The Boy Who Lived
by The Amazing Anigirl
Summary: There is only one nation that has survived a millennium of war and persecution. One nation that escaped the sword of Rome, Greece, and even Russia. That one nation is the nation of Israel, and now, at the order of Hitler himself, Germany must find and kill this nation, and the Jewish people with him. But can he end the nation that no empire can best? And, if he can, will he?
1. The Order

There was a small sign in the waiting room of the SS headquarters, a list of rules to be obeyed at all times by the unfortunate person (or, in the case of Germany and Italy, nations) who happened to be waiting for a meeting with one of the many intimidating officers of the SS. Herr Himmler, the head of the SS, had made sure that the sign was always up and legible. He was known as a very schoolmasterly and almost prudish sort, the sort who liked his rules and wanted to make sure that everyone else knew about and followed them.

So naturally, in the five minutes that Germany was forced to wait with his ally, Italy managed to break every single rule up on the sign plus some that Himmler hadn't bothered to write up since, quite frankly, breaking such unspoken rules would require a phenomenal lack of common sense (Don't interrupt Herr Heydrich while he's in a meeting. Do not then offer Herr Heydrich flowers as penance. Do not then cry when Herr Heydrich threatens to throw you in the nearest concentration camp, alliance be damned.)

Suffice to say, by the time Germany somehow managed to make peace between Italy and the Head of Gestapo ('make peace' being a relative term), he was eager to get his damned mission and get it over with. Hitler never gave him his assignments personally-Germany didn't know why, but his boss only called him to his office when he did something wrong and the Fuhrer felt the need to personally rant about it for twenty to thirty minutes. If he didn't want to berate his nation, however, Hitler sent his orders through Himmler, and Himmler usually delivered the orders over the phone.

Not today, though. Today Himmler had called over the phone and whispered urgently for Germany to come to his office so that he could get his assignment. Germany already disliked this assignment-the fact that Himmler was being so secretive and had sounded so… _scared_ over the phone made the German nation inwardly cringe. Whatever it was, it couldn't be worse than when he had been sent to Russia a week ago to try and kill the arctic nation. His boss had given him an earful for failing _that_ mission.

 _Hopefully,_ he thought, stepping into Herr Himmler's office and praying that Italy would behave himself and not piss off any more highly-ranked SS officers while he was gone, _this mission will be easier. I'm starting to wear myself down, jumping back and forth. 'Germany, go kill Russia! Germany, go capture Poland! Germany, go find the Holy Grail!' Oh, Christ, I hope this won't be another one of_ those _missions._

Himmler looked about ready to have a heart attack. He kept glancing back and forth, like a mouse that knew full well that it was in a cat's cage but didn't know where the feline was. The skittish SS leader spoke in a trembling voice.

"It has…come to our attention…that…there…"

"Herr Himmler," said Germany, barely holding in a sigh. "Please, I can't hear you. What are you so panicked about?"

Himmler swallowed. "Ah, forgive me. It's just…well, some of our men managed to squeeze some information out of the Polish nation."

Poland! Germany hadn't seen him in forever, not since handing him over to the SS. He briefly wondered what Himmler meant by 'squeezing'. Germany wasn't privy to all of the SS's secrets, but any idiot on the streets of Berlin could tell that the black-garbed soldiers were brutal.

Before Germany could think too much about Poland's interrogation, Himmler spoke again. "Well…we have been told more information…and…well, you know our policies concerning the Jewish people."

To a degree he certainly did. The Jewish People had worked with the Allies to betray him during the war, and now it was the job of the SS to get them out of the country and away from him before they could do any more damage. They were people with darkness in their souls, a darkness that drove them to obsessively hate the good people of Germany.

They were also dying. Every day. Germany, naturally, didn't like death, but he was a nation that had known war for many years and knew that people simply had to die in war, especially if they were an enemy as dangerous as the Jews.

"Herr Himmler? Please, I need to know my mission."

Himmler exhaled. "The Fuhrer is aware of the rules concerning nations, and concerning how nations can be killed…and concerning what happens to its people when it dies."

Germany almost wanted to roll his eyes. _Well, of course he knows that, I'm the one that told him! Get to the damn point!_

"While interrogating Poland, we found out some…interesting information."

Himmler looked up and his entire body stiffened as he hissed. "The Jewish Nation…the Jews…their nation is alive…it's in Poland right now. It's called…"

"Israel…"

The word escaped Germany's lips before the SS leader could even say it, and the nation whispered the name with wonder and disbelief.

"Impossible," he said, shaking his head. "Israel is…a bedtime story. He's not real…or, well, he _was_ real, but he's not real anymore. He either died or…"

Himmler shook his head. "That's not what Poland said. When you captured him…you remember that he led you away from his house? He rode around on that horse of his for hours before he surrendered."

Germany nodded. It _had_ been odd, the way Poland had gone down. Rather than staying at his house and fighting, he'd hopped right on his pony (Poland had made sure to emphasize that it was in fact a _pony,_ not a horse) and rode around the Polish countryside for hours, laughing at Germany over his shoulder as the German pursued him. Eventually, of course, Germany had managed to take him down, but even while he was being taken away the Pole had had a sly smirk on his face, as though he had been the true victor.

His house…

Good God, could he really… could Israel have really been there?

Israel, the Unkillable Nation, God's Country. Even Prussia had called the legendary country's exploits awesome. When Germany had been a little boy he had often been told stories of the famous country. How Israel, when he was a little child, had escaped Egypt with God's help. How he'd become an empire with vast riches. How he'd lost it all to Babylon and Persia and Rome, but still managed to fight and even defeat those powerful empires, escaping before they could hope to strike the killing blow.

Israel was supposedly the nation that no empire could best. Even Rome, Germany's hero, Germany icon, had lost a duel to the Holy Land.

And Germany could already see where his boss was going. If Israel was truly running around somewhere in Poland, if he actually did exist and hadn't faded or died like so many nations, then he was the key to ridding Germany of the Jewish scourge once and for all.

Nations had a parallel relationship with their human citizens. When too many of their people died they felt pain and got weak. At the same time, if a nation died then its people would be helpless. The culture would fade, the people would scatter, and eventually they would all die out. It was like an ant colony that had lost its queen: the drones and soldiers and workers would quickly follow their monarch into the afterlife.

But only nations could kill nations. It was a strange but necessary natural phenomenon: nations couldn't kill humans and humans couldn't kill nations. Even if a nation cut a human's head clean off, somehow or another the human's head would find its way back to its body and the human would live again. The same went for nations.

So if the Fuhrer wanted the Jewish People gone for good, the death of Israel would be the fastest and most efficient way to achieve such an end. And only a powerful nation, a powerful empire, a Reich could hope to kill such a legend.

Surely enough, Himmler stuttered the Fuhrer's curt order:

"Your mission is to find and kill the nation of Israel. The Reich depends on it."

Germany tightened his jaw. This was going to be harder than trying kill Russia, harder than fighting America, maybe even harder than trying to turn Italy into a valiant warrior.

Kill Israel.

This would be his ultimate challenge, but if he managed to do this he would not only fulfill the Fuhrer's order, not only end the Jewish menace, but he would be considered the strongest nation ever to walk the earth. Then he would be the legend, more so than Rome himself. He would be known as the nation that had done what Rome couldn't: the nation that had killed the unkillable Israel.

 _That_ would be worth the effort. With a slight smile, he raised his arm in a Nazi salute and cried, "It will be done! Heil Hitler!"

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	2. Not Awesome

"This is _not awesome!_ "

For about the ninetieth time that evening, Germany was forced to sigh at one of his allies' protests. Italy had cried and begged him not to go. The little Italian had never actually seen the infamous Israel, but he remembered his Grandpa returning home with bruises and aches all over his body after losing his duel with the Holy Land.

"I don't want that to happen to you! Ve~! Germany! Please, don't do this!"

"Even if I didn't want to, I don't have a choice, Italia," Germany had replied. "My boss gave an order. Either I follow it of my own volition or I'll start losing my mind."

Indeed, nations could only resist orders from their boss up to a point. Eventually, the order would start to echo through their heads, and then it would become like a virus, taking over the nation's mind until it was consumed with the overwhelming urge to obey. Since Germany felt like keeping his mind intact and not turning into a mindless beast, he decided to leave immediately.

"Ve~! I don't know what volition means!" Italy had whimpered. "Please don't go, Germany! I'll miss you and I'll worry about you and I won't be able to sleep or siesta or…"

"Italia!" Germany had sighed, almost touched by his ally's concern. "I'm going now. If anything bad happens then I'll come back right away."

Italy had sniffed. "Promise?"

"Promise."

"Right away?"

"Right away."

"And you'll be all right? No hurting or blood?"

"No hurting, no blood."

"Pinkie swear!"

And Germany had smiled and done the obligatory pinkie swear. After that, Italy had finally left him alone.

Japan, who had been nursed on China's legends and lore rather than tales of Israel's exploits, was a bit confused about what all the fuss was about, and when he heard that it was about a nation even older than China he was even more confused.

"Wouldn't that mean," he said, "that he is now old and perhaps feeble? China was easy for me to defeat…" There was a sad edge to his voice, as though the memory of being forced to fight his brother still pained him.

"So," he had continued, "won't Israel be just as easy to defeat? You are a powerful nation, Germany."

"Israel and China are _not_ the same," Prussia had interjected, "That's like comparing my awesomeness to Austria: no comparison! I am awesome!"

Austria, who had been sitting at the piano and playing his 'I-disapprove-of-this-situation' music, stopped mid-stanza and turned to glare at the red-eyed former-nation.

"Well," he had scoffed, "while I wouldn't exactly put it that way I fear I have to agree with Prussia. This mission is foolish."

"Good God, you're all acting like I'm going to try and kill a lion with my bare hands."

"No," Prussia had said, "you're going to try and kill somebody who _did_ kill a lion with his bare hands! Ol' Fritz told me all about Israel. That country is a beast! And nobody's seen him! Not even the old geezer here!"

He had once again gestured to Austria, who had huffed indignantly went back to his piano. A huge argument had then erupted between the Austrian and the Prussian ("Would you mind talking West out of this suicide mission instead of going back to your damn music?! "I'm expressing my disapproval right now" "How about you express it with words instead of music?!"), and Germany had taken the opportunity to run upstairs and pack his things.

"A beast, hm?" he had said, sheathing his knife at his side. "Well, he's a beast that betrayed me. He's a beast I'm going to put down."

Not only was this a mission given by the Fuhrer, not only was this a mission that could earn Germany glory beyond his wildest dreams, but this was _personal._ Though he often questioned his boss' sanity (particularly during his 'go find me insert-mystical-object and prepare for a verbal slaughter when you inevitably fail' quests), Germany didn't doubt that his boss was smart. He had to be. He had managed to get his nation out of a rut, get him back into shape, and turned him into a nation to be feared and respected instead of a nation to be mocked and forced to make cuckoo-clocks. For that, Germany would always respect and be grateful to Hitler.

And Hitler's words on the Jews, well, to Germany it just made sense. That would explain why he had lost the war even though he had felt so confident, so powerful. For one reason or another, a powerful, ancient nation had decided to hurt and humiliate Germany and used the Jewish people as tools against the Germans, stabbing them in the back. Germany didn't know why Israel had done that, but perhaps the nation was just bitter. A bitter beast of a nation that he both wanted and needed to end.

So he was about to set off when Prussia grabbed his arm and gave him one last comment.

"This is not awesome," he said, his normally cocky voice filled with a surprising amount of concern. "You're gonna get yourself _killed,_ West."

"Israel doesn't usually kill his opponents," Germany pointed out. "At least he didn't in the stories you used to tell me."

"Nah, but he beat 'em up real bad. And the last thing I need is a bloody brother limping home just in time for Russia to come knocking. If he beats you like he beat Ita's grandpa then you might end up losing this war, West."

"I'll come back if the mission goes awry. I have a feeling Hitler's not letting me out of this one, though, so I have to go."

"Fuck that guy."

"Prussia…!"

"No, really. Fuck that guy. He's an un-awesome asshole and an idiot…"

"He saved me!" Germany declared, an indignant flare in his blue eyes. "He saved me and you and everyone in my country! You think I'll die from this war? I almost _starved_ to death! Then I almost worked myself to death, just to repay those damn debts from Versailles. And you know why I had to sign Versailles, East? Israel and his people stabbed me in the back."

"I still don't buy that," said Prussia. "Sounds like something a stupid politician would say to get votes."

"He's been saying it even since he got into office, and I _do_ buy it. How else do you explain…?"

"Mustard gas."

" _Prussia…"_

"Well, that stuff…"

" _Prussia…"_

"Okay, look," said Prussia, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I don't personally give a damn who did what with Versailles. Only thing I care about is chicks, beer, and making sure my brother isn't beaten to a pulp."

Germany had to chuckle at that. "Tell you what: when I get back I'll buy us a whole barrel of beer. All on me. We'll drink the whole thing together."

Prussia smirked. "Ha! You mean _I'll_ drink the whole thing."

"Not on your life. I'll be the conquering hero, I'll deserve a beer."

"Now you sound like Alfred."

"Ugh!"

"Yeah, yeah. But listen: no matter what, as soon as you get an opening, you take it. Do whatever you have to do to bring Israel down. If you don't, he'll find some way to get to you. He's a clever one."

"Right, right."

"You sure you don't want me to come along?"

"I need someone to hold up the fort while I'm gone. Japan can't stay here forever and Italy…is Italy."

"Got'cha covered."

"All right," sighed Germany, adjusting his backpack. "Then I'm off."

Before he could bid his brother farewell he was yanked into a bone-crushing hug by the Prussian. That was a surprise: Prussia had never been the hug-type. He was the laugh-heartily-and-smack-you-on-the-back type, definitely not the hug-type.

Despite his surprise, Germany embraced his brother and assured him one last time that he would be back unscathed and victorious before he turned on his heel and left his brother to worry on his behalf.

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	3. Poland's House

As Germany drove through the Polish countryside, his conscience nagged him for lying to his brother.

He would rather walk across burning coals barefoot than tell his brother the true reason that he had felt the need to leave him behind. For all of Italy's problems and bothersome behaviors, he was actually normally well behaved when he knew that Germany wasn't close enough to protect him if he got himself into trouble. Besides, Italy would have to head back to his homeland fairly soon and see to his own boss' orders. Prussia's supervision wouldn't be necessary for long.

No, the real reason that Germany hadn't wanted to take his brother along was because his brother was a Ghost.

Normally, when a country was wiped off the map it was a violent affair: a massive war or slaughter would end the country and its personification. Most countries died once their land and government were taken from them.

But some countries weren't killed, even when their government was gone and they had no land to call their own. These former-nations were called 'Ghosts', the personifications that continued to live on even while their name was absent from the globe.

It was hard to be a Ghost. Ghosts retained none of their enhanced nation strength or speed. Ghosts lost the ability to kill other nations (and they still couldn't kill humans). The only nation-quality that a Ghost maintained was its eternal youth and immortality. Other than that, however, being a Ghost was almost worse than being a normal human: they were rendered weak, poor, and virtually defenseless, forced to depend on the kindness of relatives and fellow nations.

It was possible for a Ghost to become a nation again, but only if they could form another government, bring back their culture, and claim some land. And since Ghosts were extremely weak, especially compared to countries, that was practically impossible. Most countries considered becoming a Ghost to be a fate worse than fading away, and so when an unfortunate nation became a Ghost its enemies would leave it be.

But if a Ghost went looking for a fight, especially if that fight happened to be with the famous Israel, well, Germany didn't want to think too hard about what might happen if his overconfident brother did something dangerous and stupid while facing off against the ancient nation. Prussia hadn't taken becoming a Ghost well. He continued to smile and insist that he was the most awesome entity around, but Germany knew full well that his brother was weak, knew he was weak, and was ashamed that he had become so weak.

Too weak to defend his baby brother.

Germany shook his head. No, Prussia couldn't protect him anymore. He had to protect both of them now. He didn't want his Ghost of a brother to get hurt, and therefore he would have to defeat Israel by himself.

Of course, he couldn't very well defeat the Jewish land if he had no clue where in the hell he was. He doubted that the ancient country would still be at Poland's house. Still, it was the only lead that Germany had. Perhaps there would be some sort of clue that would point to Israel's current hiding place.

 _Odd, though,_ thought Germany as he finally arrived at Poland's abandoned house. _I did a very thorough search after I captured Poland and I didn't see anything suspicious. Well, then again I wasn't even entertaining the notion that Poland was hiding Israel back then. Maybe I overlooked something. Only one way to find out._

He parked his black Mercedes outside and entered. The house, which had once been ornately (and pinkly) decorated, had been ransacked. Germany wasn't the least surprised: the occupation was hard, and any band of fugitive Poles or Jews that might have come across Poland's empty abode would have been eager to break in and take whatever they could. The curtains had been ripped down, the drawers opened and emptied of their contents, and any food that Poland might have had in the kitchen was long gone.

 _Hopefully the looters didn't take the clue I'm looking for,_ Germany thought as he rolled up his sleeves and began his second search of the Pole's house.

Eight exhausting hours later, after quite literally ripping up the floorboards with his bare hands, Germany at last determined that there was no trace of the Jewish nation to be found in Poland's home. He sat down on a worn purple chair and massaged his temple, which was already beginning to pound as a frustrated headache threatened to invade.

 _Nothing,_ he thought. _So…where on earth do I go from here? Maybe I could try interrogating Poland, but I don't even know where he is, and besides he's stubborn as a bull. Ha! Maybe I should try using the pony as a hostage. 'Tell me where the Jew is or the horse gets it!'_

He smirked briefly at his little joke, but then his eyes lit up with eureka.

 _Wait…pony…_

He stood up and ran to the window, peeking out into the backyard, where a small stable stood in dreary solitude.

 _Stable! Of course!_

The stable had been the one area he hadn't searched after he captured Poland, the stink of the horseshit having kept him at bay. But perhaps that had been the point: there was hardly a better place to hide the Jewish nation than a smelly old stable that tidy Germany wouldn't step foot in.

The stable still stunk, and Germany had to hold his nose just so he could enter without becoming physically ill. He hated dirtiness in general, and being around so much muck made him want to abandon this mission and go take a shower. He tried his best to ignore that urge, however, and after making sure to put on some gloves he sifted through the hay.

At last, after a bit of digging, he found something: a loose plank of wood. He pulled up the plank and couldn't help but smirk when he saw a little folded piece of paper.

He took the paper and fled the stable before his sinuses were rendered impotent by the stench. After running back into the house and giving his hands a thorough washing, Germany unfolded the note. It was written in the language of the nations, a tongue that only personifications could comprehend.

 _Feliks,_

 _In case you come back, I'm in the forest, by the Owl Rock._

 _-I_

He almost wanted to laugh. _I as in Israel. For an ancient nation you certainly are a fool, Israel. You shouldn't have left this behind. Should have just assumed that your friend wasn't coming back._

He tucked the note into his pocket and looked around for a map. Surely enough, he found one with a mark labeled 'Owl Rock'. It was a bit out of the way, and he would have to leave behind the car since he couldn't hope to drive through the thicket, but he had a trail to follow now.

He exited the house, made sure that his car was securely locked, and then entered the forest.

 _Your friend's not coming for you, Israel,_ he thought, his fingers brushing against grip of his gun. _But I am._

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	4. Owl Rock

Germany had almost completely forgotten how much he _hated_ forests.

Not because he disliked nature or animals (though he had a healthy hatred for the bugs that seemed keen to make his trek as miserable as possible), but the forest was practically designed to make hunting downright impossible for him. Every time he had been forced into the forest to track down another country in the past he almost always managed to get ambushed. Germany was the sort that stuck out easily among the trees and bushes: it was hard for a nation as tall and imposing as him to stay hidden, and thus he rarely managed to achieve the element of surprise when he was in the woods.

And in the case of Israel he had a distinct feeling that he was going to need that element of surprise. Running at him guns ablaze would likely end badly if Israel was even half the fighter that he must have been. Germany was strong, but not nearly as strong as the Roman Empire, and if the Jewish nation had managed to give _him_ a beating then Germany would have to play this smart. A shot to the head would do it, but he had to make sure he could get close enough to fire and hit his target. He certainly didn't want to miss and then have to deal with an alert and aggressive Israel.

So he continued to slowly sulk through the woods, stopping only when fatigue forced him to and keeping his gun at the ready at all times. He didn't dare sleep through the night since he certainly didn't want to risk being ambushed, but he took a few brief naps under bushes, scratching at the multiple bug-bites he had accumulated and praying that this damned mission would be over soon.

At last, after walking for what must have been three days at minimum, he arrived at the Owl Rock.

 _Well, I guess I can see why it was named that,_ he thought, glancing cautiously up at the stone. The Rock looked so much like an owl that Germany had to wonder if a sculptor of some sort had chosen to practice on it. Its giant stone eyes seemed to glare down at him and he had to repress a shudder. Creepy. He almost felt as though the landmark was sentient, sentient enough to see and dislike him, but he quickly brushed that thought away. He had bigger things to worry about than a sinister-looking rock in the middle of the woods.

Germany scanned the area with his cold blue eyes, but he didn't see a sign of human or nation activity. He glanced at the base of the Owl Rock and cocked his gun when he realized that the ancient nation must have been camped right behind the stone.

Slowly, he inched his way towards the rock, pressing his back against the Owl's stomach and listening carefully. Tuning out the twitters of birds and the chirps of crickets, he could hear a very soft breathing coming from the other side of the rock. Not a snore, but clearly a series of sleepy inhales and exhales. Israel was definitely behind the rock and he was definitely asleep.

 _Now's my chance,_ thought Germany. He made sure his weapon was ready, inhaled, and jumped around the rock, raising his gun and aiming at Israel's head. He paused just long enough to look at the ancient nation and take in his appearance.

Israel was lying on his side, curled up in a little ball.

Israel had raven-black hair.

Israel was a twelve-year-old boy.

Germany was so surprised that he froze, and his temporary paralysis gave Israel just enough time to wake up, roll out of the gun's range, grab the German's arm with one hand and sock him in the jaw with the other.

Germany's world instantly became black.

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	5. The Great and Mighty Israel

The first thing that Germany noticed when he finally came to was that he was tied up. Worn ropes restrained his wrists and ankles as he sat against a tree. He grunted in pain: his jaw still throbbed and the ropes were digging into his flesh. Despite this, he was rather surprised and relieved to find that he wasn't currently standing before a heavenly tribunal. For one reason or another, Israel had decided not to arrange a meeting between the German nation and his Maker.

Speaking of the Jewish nation, he was crouched by his little campground a few yards in front of the tree that Germany was leaning against. The boy was studying a map, likely the one that Germany had taken with him. He stuck out his tongue as his hazel eyes roamed the paper. Germany glanced down at the boy's side and saw that his gun and blade were lying right beside the boy's backpack. The German nation sighed. Great. He was tied-up, unarmed, and at the mercy of a thousand-year-old child.

The German's aggravated exhale caused the child's eyes to flicker up and land on him. The child smirked in a very Prussia-like manner before rolling up his map and stashing it with Germany's commandeered weapons. He stood up and strode confidently over to his prisoner. Germany glared up at the boy and took a moment to scrutinize the Jewish nation.

Israel was wearing a scrappy green army jacket that was much too big for him: the sleeves were practically covering his little hands. Underneath the jacket-which Germany assumed he had gotten from Poland-he wore a simple gray shirt and a tattered pair of American jeans. He wore an olive-green army cap that was also clearly made for a man and not a boy: it covered his head, making it so that only his bangs and a few locks of his raven-black hair could poke out. His shoes were so grimy that Germany couldn't tell what sort of footwear they were. Around his neck was a pewter accessory that Germany almost mistook for a dog tag, but he quickly realized that it was actually a boyish Star-of-David necklace.

But his weapons were his oddest adornments. At his side was a slightly-rusty sword which, when Germany looked closely, he noticed had some Hebrew letters engraved onto the blade. Strapped to his back was a bow and a quiver with a few arrows. Both the bow and the arrows were somewhat clumsily carved, and Germany could assume that the boy had made them himself.

The boy was also skinny and small. Very small. So small that the German was downright shocked that he had managed to take down a nation of Germany's stature with only a single blow. His wrists were so devoid of muscle that Germany could practically see his bones, and the German nation had a feeling that if the boy pulled up his shirt and revealed his belly, his ribcage would be visible through his thin flesh.

Despite his lack of height and muscle mass, Israel put his hands on his hips and grinned down at his prisoner as though he was the strongest nation in the world.

"G'mornin'!" he chuckled in a strangely bright tone. He sounded far too friendly for someone who was talking to an enemy.

Germany merely grunted in response.

The boy laughed. "Well, aren't you just sunshine and rainbows! Military born and bred, I can tell. You must be dying to get your morning set of push-ups done."

Germany narrowed his eyes at the boy.

"Talkative type," snorted Israel, shoving his hands into his pockets and continuing to smirk in an infuriating manner. "Well, I suppose introductions are in order…"

He bowed dramatically and declared, "Israel: Jew, fugitive, and punching bag of the nations. And you, my gun-toting guest, must be Germany."

"How could you tell?" asked Germany in a harsh tone, at last venturing to actually talk to the boy.

"Feliks told me to expect a blonde shithead with spit-shined jackboots. Lo and behold…"

"That's quite a mouth you've got, little boy," growled Germany.

"Just 'cause I'm religious don't mean I can't curse people who deserve it, fucker," said the boy, his smirk stretching, as if daring the German to nag him about his language once more.

Germany decided not to bother: it was odd hearing such obscenities fall from the mouth of one so young, but he had bigger worries.

"Deserve it?"

"Well, you _did_ try an' put a bullet in my brain."

"I did," said Germany, and Israel snorted once more.

"Well, at least you're honest," he mumbled.

"I'm not denying it," said Germany, "But I'm rather surprised that you didn't kill me after knocking me out given the fact that I _did_ try to kill you."

"Needed some info outta you…"

He drew his sword from his side and poked the end of the blade at Germany's throat. Germany stiffened as he felt the razor-sharp tip of the weapon prick at his flesh. One little slice and it would all be over: the German people would be gone, Prussia and Italy would be defenseless…

"So," chirped the boy, "answer honestly: where is Poland?"

Germany pursed his lips and considered lying to the boy, but deciding that he was dead either way and deciding that he didn't want to put German lives in danger by giving the boy a target he truthfully stated, "I handed him over to the SS after I captured him. I have no clue where he is."

"You don't even know where your own prisoners are? How stupid d'ya think I am?"

"It's the truth."

Germany looked up into the boy's eyes and the child seemed to search his prisoner's azure irises for a hint of a lie before he sighed and took his sword off of the German's throat.

"Your boss is fucked up. Don't even let his own country know what's going on…"

"Wait…" muttered Germany, surprised that his neck was still intact. "So…you're not going to kill me?"

"Can't," replied the boy with a shrug, turning his back on the German and starting to shove his things back into his backpack. "I'm not a nation no more."

Germany grumbled derisively. "And apparently you don't have any grammar _no more."_

The boy looked over his shoulder and scowled at the German, pointing Germany's own knife at him. "Lay off, Spit-Shine. I was around before grammar was invented!"

He shoved Germany's knife into his backpack and kept packing.

"Ah, yes," Germany sneered, "The great and mighty nation of Israel, God's special country, the nation that bested Rome himself…and you're nothing more than a twelve-year-old brat."

The boy laughed once more and strapped his bow and quiver to his backpack.

"I won't argue the brat part, but I'm pretty sure I'm thirteen. Besides, I might look young, but I'm old enough to be your grandpappy, sonny."

"Then why are you still a child?" asked Germany. "You were an empire once. You're older than Rome and you've been living since…"

"Didn't get much of a chance to grow up. I da' know why, but for some reason I grew real slow, and then I became a Ghost and just sorta' got stuck like this."

Germany dearly wished he had a free hand that he could smack his own forehead with. _I really need to stop making grandiose assumptions about presumably powerful countries I'm chasing. Well, at least Israel wasn't hiding in a tomato crate…_

"A child and a Ghost," huffed Germany.

"And I still kicked your ass," Israel pointed out. Germany almost wanted to smile at that. _Fair point._

"Fine then: you kicked my ass and now I'm your prisoner. What now? If you can't kill me then do you plan on leaving me here?"

"Nope," replied the boy, throwing his backpack over his shoulders. "First: I'm taking your car."

"How do you know I…?"

"You had Feliks' note on ya', which means you were at the house. You can't take a train there and I doubt you walked all the way from Berlin. So I'm takin' the car…"

"And…?"

"Going to Lithuania."

"Lithuania? Why?"

"Liet and Poland are close," the child explained, taking out his sword once more. "And Feliks is smart. He might have managed to call or write Liet, tell him where he is."

"All right, so you want to go to Lithuania so you can find and free your friend," muttered Germany, "What does this have to do with me?"

Israel grinned and raised his sword. Germany cringed and shut his eyes, preparing for a non-fatal but still painful stab. Instead, however, the boy brought the sword down on the ropes restraining Germany's feet, cutting them off and leaving only his hands tied up.

"You're coming with me," said the Jewish youth, and Germany's eyes widened.

"Wh-what?!" he cried as the Jewish boy grabbed another rope and tied it around his prisoner's other restraints, forming a leash that he used to yank the German to his feet.

"You heard me."

"Why? What do you need me for?"

"If I run into one of your soldiers or allies," explained Israel, "it'll pay to have you as a shield. I can just hold a sword to your throat and threaten to gut ya' if they don't back off."

"But you can't kill me!" Germany argued, struggling pointlessly as the boy began to drag him towards Poland's domicile.

"I know that," said the boy with a wicked gleam in his eyes, "but no one else will!"

* * *

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	6. What Did I Do?

After a long trek that mostly consisted of Germany grumbling at/yelling at/cursing at Israel and the child laughing him off as though he didn't have a care in the world, night started to descend upon Poland. Once it became pitch black and they had to stop several times so that Germany could pick himself back up after tripping over unseen obstacles, Israel clicked his tongue in disapproval and led Germany over to a tree.

"Well," he said, tying his prisoner to the tree like a dog owner might to restrain their unruly hound, "guess we oughta stop for the night!"

"Finally," spat Germany, gritting his teeth to hold in a hiss of pain. Damn, the ropes were starting to hurt. He knew better than to bother asking Israel to untie him, and besides doing so would just be humiliating. It was bad enough that he had been defeated by a Jewish Ghost-child, but to then whine about something as miniscule as rope-burn when he was supposed to be an Aryan superman…well, he just wouldn't be able to live that down. That was the sort of thing _Italy_ would complain about in the middle of a battle.

The thought of Italy made Germany's heart sink with guilt. Damn it. As much as the Italian drove him insane he actually _had_ grown fond of the strange Mediterranean nation. He hated breaking his promise like this: he had assured Italy that he would be back soon, uninjured and victorious. Now, unless he managed to find an opening that he could use to escape, he was going to be dragged off to Lithuania to be used as a human (erg, _nation)_ shield by the Jewish youth. Even with the car, that drive would take days, especially given all of the unfriendly faces they were likely to encounter on the way.

 _I hope Italy's all right while I'm gone. Hope he doesn't get himself into any trouble…_

Anger bubbled up in his chest and he raised his eyes in order to glare at the Jewish youth that was holding him hostage, but the boy wasn't facing him any more. He was a few yards away, rolling out his ripped-up sleeping bag.

Before Germany could open his mouth to yell at the boy once more, the child coughed. At first it was a little cough, nothing of note, but soon it became a bout of coughing so violent that the child had to wrap his arms around his chest as his body viciously trembled. Germany's eyes widened in surprise. The boy sounded like he was about to hack up his heart. The German nation involuntarily felt a stab of pity on the boy's behalf. Germany was a steely man, certainly not the coddling sort like Italy or Hungary, but his heart wasn't made of metal: he didn't like to see a child in pain, even a child as annoying and dangerous as Israel.

After a full minute, the boy's coughing died down and he was able to breathe again. The child took deep breaths and when Germany listened closely he could hear the child muttering something.

" _Tikvah v'emunah…tikvah v'emunah…."_

Germany's lip tightened. Hebrew. He couldn't understand what the boy was saying.

After taking a moment to get his breathing in order, the boy grabbed his canteen and took a long draw.

"Ah!" he sighed, screwing the cap back on once he'd had enough. He looked over his shoulder at the German. Germany attempted to disguise his mild unease with a scowl.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Nothin'," said the boy, his voice a bit too high pitched.

 _Lying Jew,_ thought Germany, but he didn't voice this accusation. There was no need. The boy's health wasn't his concern. In fact, the sicker he was the better. It would make eventual escape much easier.

There was a pregnant pause between the Ghost and the nation before the Jewish boy held his canteen towards his prisoner.

"Thirsty?" he asked. "Don't have much left, but I can refill once we get to Feliks' house."

Germany raised a suspicious eyebrow, but reasoned that the boy wouldn't have spiked his only canteen of water, and besides he had just taken a sip. He nodded and the boy approached, pressing the canteen to the German's lips.

"Not too much now," said the boy. "Still gonna take us a day or so to get back to Feliks' house. Don't wanna be thirsty while we're walking."

Germany nearly coughed up the water. It tasted foul, like the boy had gotten it out of a muddy puddle. Once the boy pulled the canteen away, the German swallowed and made a sound of disgust.

"Ugh," he gagged. "You don't have to worry about me drinking too much of _that._ Did you draw it from a swamp?"

The boy smirked. "Well, sorry I don't have any sparkling mineral water, your highness. Believe it or not shitty-tasting water ain't my biggest worry right now."

Germany merely huffed.

"Y'know," the boy continued, "since I've kinda got assholes like you trying t'kill me every day. Don't have much time to find clean water."

Another huff. The boy was baiting him.

"Y'know, since I've kinda been waiting for my friend to come back, hoping he was okay, worrying all the time about what you and your boss were doin' to him and my people. Clean water wasn't…"

"Are you trying to make me feel guilty?" snapped Germany at last. "Because it isn't working. I don't regret capturing him, I don't regret sending the Jews to the east…"

"And you don't regret killing them?"

The boy's smile had disappeared, replaced with a frown that seemed much too serious for a young face like his. A frown, especially a grim frown like the one he was sporting, just looked strange, unnerving almost. His smile had been much more natural.

Germany narrowed his eyes. "People die in war. People die when they do wrong, especially when they wrong a very strong nation such as myself…"

"Yes, strong and modest, I see. If you're the future leader of the world then we're all screwed."

Germany scoffed. "You know nothing, child."

"Call me a child all ya' like, Spit-Shine, but I've been around long enough to know what happens when idiots like you try and take over the world."

He leaned down so that he was at eye level with the German and said, "They say it's for the best. 'I'm doing this for God! For the greater good!' Then once they get enough dumbasses to believe them and once they get enough swords or guns or whatever they need they go around killing everyone that looks at 'em funny. Then, _right_ when it seems like they're gonna rule it all, right when it seems like they're gonna live forever… _splat!"_

He clapped his hands together, causing the German to flinch.

"They fall down. Al used to tell me…how did it go? 'The bigger they are, the harder they fall'…that's it! And once they're down they don't get up again. All that blood, all that bragging, all for nothing. Same thing'll happen to you, buddy."

"'Al'?" repeated Germany, ignoring the boy's forecast of doom, "Al…you mean…Alfred? _America?_ "

The boy nodded.

"You know America?"

"He's my best friend."

"America…America _knew_ that you were around?"

"Sure."

"For how long?"

"Since he became independent. I went over there to try an' see if I could move my people over so they could be safe. Met Al while I was over there and…"

"The Revolutionary War?" Germany exclaimed, interrupting the boy, "He's known you that long? For over a hundred years! Why didn't he ever tell…anybody?! He never even hinted…"

The child chuckled. "Al might talk a lot, but he's good at keeping a secret when it's important. I made him promise never to tell and he never did. Great guy."

"He didn't try to kill you?" asked Germany, stunned. The other nations had been told many times that Israel was supposedly a strong, clever, and most of all _dangerous_ nation. America, who possessed an extraordinary amount of strength even by nation standards, would be one of the few countries that might have been able to stand up against the Israel of legends. Besides, given Alfred's obsession with being a hero, the strongest of the strong, Germany was shocked that America wouldn't have wanted to prove his might by defeating the infamous Jewish nation.

"Nope. One of the few. Even the countries that don't know who I am tend to try an' kill me at some point. Or at least kick me out of their land. But Al…Al's different. Always nice to me…"

His voice trailed off and his smug smile became fondly somber as he thought of his friend. He shook his head, however, and looked back down at his prisoner.

"You wouldn't get it," he sighed.

"You're right. I don't," replied the German spitefully. "If what you say is true then America's a fool. Your people have a tendency to stab strong nations in the back…"

The child's hazel eyes glittered, and the gleam made Germany shut his mouth right away. It wasn't a gleam of humor or amusement; it was a flare of fury.

"Oh, _yes,_ " Israel snarled bitterly, "Yes, what did I do this time, _hm?_ Did I kill some more Christian children? Did I kill God again, I seem to do that every Easter! Oh, oh, I know! Maybe I poisoned the wells! No? Invented communism? Capitalism? Huh? What did I do this time, you son-of-a-bitch?"

Germany was so startled by the boy's sudden bout of yelling that he remained silent.

" _What did I do?!"_ the boy demanded, drawing his sword. "Tell me! Tell me what I did this time! What'd my people do? What's the excuse this time? Why do you want to kill me and my people? Tell me! Tell me or I'll give you a _real_ reason to hate me!"

 _Damn ,_ thought Germany, barely glancing at the sword that the boy was once again pointing at him. He wouldn't exactly say that the child was _scary-_ even while mad his youthful face was more cute than intimidating. Still, the boy was clearly fed-up. It appeared that he had been through this exact situation one too many times and was just barely holding in the urge to snap and stab the nearest nation right through the heart…and, of course, that nearest nation just happened to be Germany.

Germany, though he knew he didn't have to fear dying at the hand of the Jewish nation, desired to get out of this situation with a minimum number of wounds (he _had_ promised Italy no blood, after all.)

"You know what you did to me," he replied as calmly as possible, trying to hold in all of his wrath and speak in a terse but overall composed manner

Israel took a deep breath and slowly sheathed his sword. He muttered something in Hebrew and glanced briefly up at the sky. Germany arched an eyebrow, wondering who the child was talking to and what he was saying. Before he could ask, the child looked back down at him, his hazel eyes glistening like the stars that were starting to come out.

"No," he said. "No, I really don't. It's hard to keep track of all the horrible crimes I've apparently committed. Last I checked I caused the Depression-is that what this is about? You think I took your wallet so you decided to go shoot Jewish kids."

"First off, I didn't succeed in shooting you, and I wasn't expecting…"

"Not _you,_ dumbass!" snapped the boy. "Your fucking precious soldiers!"

"Look, I don't like it when children die: I'm not a monster," said Germany firmly, the barest hint of begrudging sympathy making its way into his tone, "But the simple fact of the matter is that people, even children, die in war. Collateral damage is…"

Israel laughed, but it wasn't the same laugh that he had given before. It was a laugh that lacked humor or amusement, a laugh so cold that it almost sent a shiver down Germany's spine.

" _Collateral damage?"_ the Jewish youth cried at last, "Shooting kids in the head and throwing them in a pit? Using babies for target practice? Throwing them off buildings? That's what the SS calls _collateral damage_?"

"What?" asked Germany. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Your soldiers have been killing babies! Little kids! And they laughed while they did it! _Laughed!_ "

Germany glared. Ah, yes. He had heard horror stories coming out of the east, but his soldiers and the Fuhrer had assured him that they were nothing more than stories. Enemy propaganda invented by the Communists and the Jews to make the honorable SS seem like an army of beasts. Germany, of course, was more inclined to believe the word of his boss and his own people and less inclined to trust the boy who had knocked him out and threatened to cut his throat twice.

"Lies," the German replied coolly. "My men would never do anything like that. Unlike the Jews, us Germans have principle. We don't stab our allies in the back, and we certainly don't kill people without cause. That's the sort of thing Russia and his communists do."

He expected the Jewish boy to slap him or abuse him in some way-normally when a prisoner refused to cooperate with _him_ he applied a fair amount of force to punish them. The child, however, merely shook his head.

"Jackass," he said. "You're completely gone…"

He collapsed on top of his sleeping mat, crossing his legs and keeping his eyes pinned on the German as he said, "What's your problem with me and my people? Is it because we won't wear a cross?"

The boy gestured to the iron-cross necklace around Germany's neck and the German nearly scoffed. He had never been exceptionally religious, unlike most of his fellow Europeans, who were quite Christian (even _Prussia_ was rather religious-every time he did something particularly 'sinful' he scurried right to church to apologize to God. Apparently he had been doing that since he was a Teutonic Knight.) If Israel didn't want to believe in Jesus then Germany didn't care-the cross, to him, was merely a formality, and the iron-cross around his neck was a symbol of his history and the bravery of his people, not a declaration of faith.

"I don't care about your religion," said Germany. "I care about your blood and your actions. You have bad blood, and your actions prove that. Your people stabbed me in the back during the Great War. I was doing so well, but your people aided the Allies and made me lose. I was forced to sign a treaty that drained my resources and made me weak-all because of you."

His voice was venomous, but much to his surprise the child merely shook his head in a condescending manner, as though he was listening to a kindergartener's fanciful story.

"Right," said Israel. "And who told you that? Herr Bastard, the Fuhrer?"

"Yes, actually, and he…"

"And you just trusted him?"

"He's the one who…"

"He's never done _anything_ stupid or weird that would make you suspect that he might actually be wrong once in awhile?"

Germany felt his stomach sink slightly at that. There were many strange, crazy, and downright moronic things his boss had done in the past (asking Germany to betray and kill Russia ranked at the top, right beneath his assertion that finding the Ark of the Covenant would somehow let them win the war). But as far as general politics and international affairs went Hitler seemed to be of sound mind, and Germany had never thought to lump the Fuhrer's Jewish policy in with his foolish measures.

"All bosses make mistakes," snapped Germany, "But I believe him as far as you go. I couldn't have lost otherwise."

"Couldn't you?"

"No," replied Germany, a small, confident smile coming to his face, "I was strong back then, much stronger than the Allies, and I'm becoming stronger again thanks…"

"And you really think that the Jews made you less strong? That I snuck in and sabotaged you somehow?"

"I already…"

"And you think that's because we have 'bad blood' or something? It's just in our nature to try and do shit like that?"

"That's what…"

"Tell me something, Spit-Shine," interrupted the Jewish boy, leaning forward a bit, "Have you ever talked to a Jew? A real Jew. Not me. I don't count 'cause you made me your enemy when you started killing my people. But have ya' ever actually talked to a real, flesh-and-blood Jew?"

Germany's confident smirk fell away. He racked his brain for a memory of speaking to such a cold-blooded creature, but…now that he thought about it, he rarely interacted with humans at all. True, he went to town on occasion, and he knew people in his army, but that was about it. He didn't interact with humans that much, and when he did he usually didn't bother asking them what their religion was.

He had figured that if a Jew approached him, he would know it right away. His newspapers always showed them as ugly, devious creatures. He wasn't an idiot: he knew that there were blonde Jews and perhaps even pretty Jews, but given how bad their blood was he had thought that he would see a hint of hatred in their eyes when he spoke to a member of the Jewish race.

But then again, had he bumped into Israel on the street he wouldn't have been able to sense any sort of inner malice. Even now, the child seemed more impish than devilish. Perhaps it was a ruse, but it did make Germany wonder if he _had_ spoken to a Jew before and just hadn't known it. His boss had been rather keen to keep him away from the Jews until now, saying that they might harm his soul if they got too close. Germany had a distinct feeling that were he not the only one who could successfully complete this mission, Hitler likely would have been content to keep him away from Jews forever.

After Germany didn't answer for a long time, Israel said, "So your boss—who you _know_ is a flawed human that does stupid shit and is fully capable of lying to your face-tells you that an entire race of people-a race of people that you've never learned about or talked to-is totally evil and betrayed you during the war…and you just believed him? No questions asked? You don't doubt it for a second?"

Germany remained silent.

"Well," said the boy, "it seems the Aryan race don't have a very _smart_ personification at the helm. Face it, Spit-Shine: you believe your boss because you just don't wanna be _wrong._ You didn't wanna be weak, didn't wanna be a failure, so when Hitler came skipping in and pointed the finger at me and my people you lapped up the lie like a thirsty dog. Just because you think you're so much stronger and smarter and better than everyone else."

Germany exhaled. "Well, let's face it: I am. The other nations of Europe range from cowardly to incompetent to sadistic. And it's not as though you don't think you're the most precious country in the world, 'Chosen One'."

Germany smirked. He had heard many times that the Jews thought they were the 'Chosen People', and he figured that pointing this out might finally allow the boy to realize his own hypocrisy and shut up.

But to his surprise, the boy merely laughed.

"Ha!" Israel cried, pointing to himself, "I'm an aggressive, pushy, hard-headed little kid who don't know when to shut up."

He pointed towards his prisoner, "You're an arrogant, gullible stick-in-the-mud who couldn't pick a decent boss if God Himself was screaming in your ear not to elect the bastard with the Chaplin moustache."

He put his hand down and lay down on his side. "We all have flaws, buddy. Some of us are just willing to acknowledge and work with 'em."

With that, the child rolled over so that Germany could only see his back.

"What are you doing?" asked Germany.

"Goin' t'sleep. You should do the same. Long walk, like I said. And even after we get the car we've got a ways to go."

Germany opened his mouth, but found that he had nothing to say He had no response to Israel's insults, both those directed to his prisoner and to himself. Germany shook his head. The child was messing with him. Trying to get him to feel bad when he hadn't done anything wrong, trying to get him to question his beliefs.

And as much as Germany didn't like to admit it, it was working. Not much, but the seed of doubt had been sewed, and it was already starting to blossom even as he tried to crush it.

 _He's a Jew, he's the enemy. Don't believe a word that comes out of his lips,_ he ordered himself.

But soon, another voice joined his own in his mind. Even though Himmler had been the one to give him the Order it was Hitler's voice that echoed in his head, repeating the Order in a sinister whisper.

 _Kill…Israel…Kill…Israel…_

 _Damn, it's already starting,_ thought Germany. Since he hadn't fulfilled his mission yet, the Order was beginning to assert itself. Soon it would get louder and louder, stronger and stronger, until it took over his mind and he became nothing more than a machine bent on completing the quest.

 _Kill Israel…_

 _I tried. I can't. Not now, I'm tied up,_ Germany thought with frustration. Hitler's voice soon faded and Germany breathed a sigh of relief.

But he knew that his relief would be short-lived. The voice would be back.

* * *

Long chapter here! I say this calls for a reward: how about a review or two?

Also, many thanks to all of the readers and reviewers. This story has received over a hundred visitors from all around the world in the course of the two weeks it has been up. I'm super happy to have that many people reading in such a short time! Please leave feedback-anonymous reviews are just as important as signed reviews!

Updates should be coming in quick now!


	7. We're Walking

Germany was woken with a kick to the side and a demand that he get his Nazi-ass up so that they could continue. He was surprised to see a few stars left in the sky and only the barest traces of the morning sun peeking out over the horizon.

"Why so early?" he moaned as Israel untied his leash from the tree and started to drag him towards Poland's house once more.

"Can't sleep for too long or we'll risk someone comin' across us," replied the boy.

"So? Most of my men are further east, and your Polish or Jewish friends would…"

" _Most_ of your men are further east, not all," said Israel, "And just 'cause me and Feliks are friends don't mean I'm friends with every one of his people. You're not the only one that wants to slit my throat, pal."

"Fine, fine," muttered the German, repressing a yawn. The Ghost noticed his prisoner's weariness and chuckled.

"Still sleepy, junior?" he asked tauntingly.

"I'm surprised you're as awake as you are," replied the German. "No wonder you're so little: sleep-deprivation stunts your growth, you know."

"You get used to it after awhile," said Israel, bouncing over a log and giving Germany's leash a light tug. "Watch your step. You've fallen on your face enough this trip. Don't worry about exhaustion, though: once we get to the car you can sleep in the back and I'll drive."

" _You'll_ drive?" exclaimed Germany, the mere thought giving him the urge to shudder. A small, bouncy, behind-the-times child driving his car: he could already see his obituary.

"Believe it or not, Spit-Shine, I'm actually pretty good at driving," huffed the boy, yanking on the rope as though to emphasize his displeasure with the German's antagonism.

"Where the hell did you learn to drive?" asked Germany, grunting as the boy's yank caused the ropes to dig sharply into his flesh.

"Al taught me," said Israel, a fond smile lighting up his face, "He let me ride in his Model T when he first got it. Ford hated my guts, but Al made sure he gave me lots of respect when we tested out his car. We crashed the car, of course."

" _We_ or _you?"_

"Both a' us. Long story. We wanted to see if Al could drive blind while I told him how ta' steer…it didn't work out."

Germany had to smother a smirk at that. Oh, yes, that _did_ sound like the sort of stupid, immature, and dangerous game that America would enjoy. Yet for some reason Germany couldn't even find it in himself to disparage the American. Instead he imagined the young country with a blindfold around his eyes, laughing alongside the Jewish Ghost as they crashed the expensive vehicle into a brick wall, not caring about the damage simply because he was having so much fun with his friend.

Friend. Germany pursed his lips. He had friends. He hadn't thought about camaraderie much before, but since Italy had popped into his life all but demanding his friendship he had realized, with both relief and appreciation, that he had friends. Italy was the most prominent, but Prussia and Japan and (to a lesser degree) even Austria cared about him a great deal and considered him to be a friend.

But America…did he have friends? He and England were very close, despite their constant arguments. France seemed to like him fine, but Germany would sooner attribute that to attraction on the Frenchman's part. And Russia…no. America seemed to have his share of friends and allies, but the ones he had weren't the sort of nations that would agree to go blind-driving with him. They weren't countries that were foolish and foolhardy enough to agree to take part in any of his insane antics.

Israel, though, was obviously extremely fond of the American. He didn't seem to find the American annoying or obnoxious at all, and even England often complained about his younger brother. The Jewish youth and America seemed to be a duo made in Heaven: reckless children that had no concept of responsibility. No doubt the child would rather be blind-driving with his best buddy than trouncing around Poland with a German on a leash.

 _So why,_ the German thought, _isn't he still with America? What's he even doing here? Did he and America have an argument or something? It doesn't seem like they parted on bad terms…_

He glared at the boy's back. _Well, maybe he just came back to Europe to give me grief._

"So," said Israel, glancing over his shoulder at his prisoner, "you got any friends, Spit-Shine?"

"Stop calling me that," Germany demanded.

"Maybe I will if you answer."

"I have allies."

"Didn't say allies, I said friends."

"No," lied Germany, not wanting to put Italy or the others in danger by naming them.

"Shame. Not surprised, though. Got any family, then? Brothers?"

"No."

"Sisters?"

"No."

"Cousins? Aunts? Uncles?

"No, no, no."

"Girlfriend?"

"No."

"Boyfriend?"

Germany scowled and made a sound of disgust.

"Don't be an asshole," Israel admonished. "Feliks had a thing for Liet. Don't know if Liet felt the same, but…"

"The Pole's blood is almost as bad as yours. _Almost."_

"Boss tell ya' that too? So what exactly makes someone's blood 'dirty'? Is there a way I can pour soap in my veins or…"

"Some nations simply have cleaner blood, and therefore they're better nations. Stronger, more loyal, smarter. Even _you_ must admit that Poland's several horses shy of a stable."

"He's not stupid. He's pretty smart when he needs t'be. And he's a tough son-of-a-bitch. Has to be: too many countries trying to kill him and steal his shit all the time. We're sort of kindred spirits like that."

"Clearly."

"All right, enough of your bull. We're not stopping unless nature calls, 'kay? We started early enough that we might be able to make it by night if we keep a good pace. It'll be nice to sleep in a bed instead of in the dirt."

"Don't get your hopes up, Ghost," Germany sneered, "Looters stripped the place. There's no mattress or pillows left."

"Looters?" the boy repeated, a hint of genuine concern coming to his otherwise confident tone. "Oh, shit…"

Israel was right: by traveling constantly all day and ignoring all of Germany's requests to go to the bathroom (in spite of the boy's earlier insistence that they would stop for nature's call) they managed to get back to Poland's house by the time darkness descended upon the Polish countryside.

Israel also had a fair amount of foresight.

"Oh, _shit…"_

That was all Germany could utter when he saw that his lovely, elegant, freshly-cleaned car was gone. Relatively new tire-tracks led away from the Polish nation's empty house.

The boy chuckled at his outburst. While Israel didn't seem particularly surprised that Germany's car had been found and stolen before they could get to it, the German nation caught a hint of exasperation in the child's subdued laugh.

Not that Germany was particularly focused on the child: he was more concerned with the fact that getting anywhere, much less home, was going to be very, very hard without a vehicle of any sort.

"Well," said Israel, "so much for that plan."

"My car…" moaned the German. "Damn Poles…"

"Hey, say what ya' want about Poland's people, but you've gotta give 'em credit where credit's due: they're determined. Even I would have trouble stealing a locked German car."

"I'll be sure to give Poland a medal when we find him," huffed Germany, "But without a car I have a feeling we're never going to find him. We can hardly…"

"Walk to Lithuania?" The boy's puckish smile widened.

"No…"

"I don't see why not!"

"No…"

"We'll head in," said Israel , trying to pull his still-as-stone prisoner towards Poland's house. "Rest for the night, refill the canteen if we can, and then…"

" _No…"_

"Oh, don't be such a micronation," sighed the Jewish youth with a roll of his hazel eyes.

"It's a _walk_ from _Western Poland_ to _Lithuania,"_ cried Germany, "My hesitation is fully justified! We'll run into Poles or Russians or wolves or…"

"And that'll be my problem. You're just the hostage, Spit-Shine. Let me worry 'bout everything else."

" _My_ enemies will recognize me, and they'll try to…"

"'Long as you stick with me and don't try anything dumb you're my prisoner, and I won't let anyone drag 'ya away."

Germany wasn't sure if he should feel secure or scared in the face of the boy's reassurance. The child was…well…a child. He had managed to knock Germany out, but that could have been luck on his part. A child, and especially a Ghost child, would have trouble protecting himself against a country like Russia, much less himself _and_ the most hated nation in Eastern Europe.

Still, there might be a bright side to this: if they came across a group of SS men, Germany might finally find his freedom. The child wouldn't be able to kill the humans, after all, and enough humans might be able to overwhelm the little Jewish Ghost long enough to give Germany the opening he was waiting for.

"As _safe_ as I feel beside you, Jew," snapped Germany, "I would like to point out that we're talking about a long trek in unfriendly territory with little to no food or resources. Ghosts and nations are fully capable of dying from starvation at some point, and I'd rather not cause a famine in my homeland because of my hunger pangs."

"I've managed this long."

"It's still…"

"Oh, shut up. I wandered around a desert for forty years and I managed to make it home. This'll be nothing."

"Comforting," snorted Germany, "Were you wandering for forty years because you were _lost_?"

"No…well, long story. And we'll have plenty of time to exchange stories while we're walkin' to Liet's house. For now, let's get some shut-eye…and, uh, let's get you to a bathroom. Nature still calling?"

Germany didn't reply, but he gratefully allowed the child to lead him into the house and leave him be long enough to use the bathroom. After that, however, the child tied him to a very sturdy bedpost and went to sleep on the ground (after putting the floorboards, which Germany had previously ripped up, back in order). While the Jewish youth slept in the corner a few feet away, Germany curled up on the hardwood floor. It certainly wasn't a comfortable accommodation, but he relished the roof over his head, knowing that the next few days would be nothing but forest floors and nighttime bug bites.

* * *

Reviews are like a car: they _drive_ me to write faster!

(Ugh…I can't believe I just said that…Forgive me….)


	8. Fairytales

When dawn came, Israel scoured the house for anything that the looters might have missed. After grabbing a few trinkets that he declared might be useful eventually and filling his canteen with clean water (thankfully the pipes still had some fresh water left in them), he grabbed Germany and led him out of Poland's house.

The child inhaled deeply.

"Ah!" he cried, "Lovely day isn't it, Spit-Shine?"

"Stop calling me that."

"Look at that sun! Bright! Not a cloud for a thousand miles!"

"Your cheerfulness is making me nauseous."

Israel laughed. "Only your sun-shiny attitude rivals this day, German. Well, there couldn't be a more perfect day for a walk. A loooooooong walk. Let's head."

"I'm hungry," Germany huffed.

" _I'm hungry, I'm tired, I'm an Aryan superman_ …" mocked Israel in a high-pitched tone. "Fine, fine. I've got some berries in my bag. Not much, but it'll hold us until I can forage for something else."

The few berries that the boy plopped into Germany's mouth barely sated his hunger, but the German decided not to complain. The child had been rather generous sharing such sweets with his prisoner. He could have just let him go hungry until he found some second-rate fodder, after all.

Speaking of fodder, though, the child led Germany over to the stables.

"You're not going to find Lithuania in here," said Germany.

"I know," sighed the child, a hint of somberness in his tone. "Just checkin'…"

"For what?"

"Nothin'. Let's march."

March they did, though in Germany's case his movement was more reminiscent of a dead-man-walking's shuffle towards a noose. Israel hummed a little ditty as he marched, and Germany almost smiled ( _almost)_ when he realized that the child was whistling Mendelssohn.

"I'm surprised," Germany said. "You know a composer of mine."

Israel stopped his whistling and looked over his shoulder, a playful yet surprised smirk coming to his face.

" _Your_ composer?"

"Of course. He was German…where did you…?"

"I would sooner call him _my_ composer! He was a Jew, you know!"

Germany almost stopped in his tracks.

"You didn't know that?"

"No…" muttered the German, glancing down at his tied-up wrists and pondering this. He _should_ have known, Mendelssohn was a fairly Jewish name (and besides, his boss had never allowed Mendelssohn to be played in his presence, that was a red flag right there), but Germany had assumed that a man who made such lovely music couldn't have been a member of a destructive race. He had never met the composer in person, but he knew his music quite well and sometimes listened to it right beside Beethoven and Mozart when he was reading.

He supposed that Israel could be lying, but that would be an insignificant thing to lie about. Besides, Israel was clearly fond of his music, fond enough to have the tune memorized so that he could whistle it, and Germany couldn't imagine the uncouth Jewish youth taking the time to listen to such classical music unless his people had something to do with it.

Fortunately, Israel didn't rub Mendelssohn's faith in the German's face. _Unfortunately_ , he instead decided to rub every Jewish composer ever born in his face, chatting endlessly about his various musicians and even taking the liberty to whistle _their_ melodies. Germany stayed silent during his blabbing, praying that he wasn't this talkative all of the time. _Heaven help me,_ he thought, _if the child picked up America's ever-running mouth._

"What's your favorite song?"

The question, directed right at him, caused Germany to finally look up at the boy.

"What?"

"Not listening?" chortled the boy. "Who's the easily-distracted kid here? I asked ya' what your favorite song is."

"Why?"

"Because it'll help me with my plot of world domination."

Germany couldn't keep his lip from quirking slightly upwards at that. Fair point. That wasn't exactly a question _he_ would ask a prisoner, but it seemed harmless enough that he couldn't think of a reason not to answer.

"I don't exactly have one," he said. "I like the classics while I read."

"A fellow bookworm!"

Germany snorted. " _You_ enjoy reading? You can hardly speak a grammatically correct sentence."

"I was reading while the rest of the Europeans were poking each other with sticks! You know how some countries consider killing an enemy in war the symbol of being an adult? Us Jews consider literacy the mark of manhood."

"Hm. I see. Well, if that's the case, what sort of books do you read?"

" _When_ I can read," sighed the boy, his smile sinking slightly. "Haven't been able to read a lot. Couldn't pack a book in my bag, not enough space. And I lost the Torah I was carrying while I was out hunting…"

The boy exhaled woefully and Germany's smile grew against his will. That was how _he_ had reacted when he was a child, when he had taken his books outside with him to read in the peaceful woods, and had ended up losing or damaging a precious tome. Books, to Germany, had always been a source of solace. The words on the page could soothe him when he was angry and take him away to another world when the world he lived in became overbearing.

"But anyway," sighed the boy, "other than the bible…I like fairytales."

"Fairytales?" repeated Germany, nearly chuckling at the thought of the tough, legendary Israel enjoying stories of princesses and dwarves.

"I've moved around a lot," the boy explained. "Every time I moved…it was kind of hard ta' adjust. New place, new language, new culture…but the fairytales would help me pick up the language and get used to the country in a nice way. Fairytales've always been…nice. They help cheer me up when I'm down."

Germany's smile turned into an incredulous frown. He and the boy were…similar, in that regard. Unless the child was a mind-reader there was no way he could have known Germany well enough to be lying about all of this as part of some sort of convoluted evil plan to get into his head. Germany hadn't met many countries that truly cherished reading. Austria loved his music, Italy loved his cooking, but even though they all _could_ read and even read for pleasure once in awhile they didn't consider books to be little sanctuaries like he did. Books couldn't make them feel better like they made Germany and Israel feel better.

"Don't make fun of me, by the way. I'll kick your ass."

"I wasn't going to make fun of you," said Germany in the gentlest tone he had used to the boy so far. "Actually…there are many German fairytales. We're rather famous for our fairytales, in fact. Have you ever heard of the Brothers Grimm?"

"Ah ah."

"You like fairytales and you've never heard of the Brothers Grimm?" snorted Germany in disbelief.

"Well, I've heard of 'em, but I've never actually read any a' their stuff. Read some German fairytales, but didn't have time to read the bunch. Don't have a lot of time to read. It really sucks."

He sighed miserably once more and Germany felt a stab of pity on the boy's behalf. He too would be despondent if he was kept away from books for too long.

"I don't suppose I could barter my freedom for a book of German fairytales? All of the Brothers Grimm?"

Israel laughed. "Was that a joke? A joke from Spit-Shine?"

"Or maybe I'll just give you the book if you stop calling me that."

"Nope on both counts, buddy. Tell ya' what, though: if I make it out of this alive, then I'll be glad t'finally curl up with some German fairytales. Hopefully they're not as morbid as some'a Russia's."

The boy shuddered dramatically and Germany had to bite down on his tongue to make sure that he didn't chuckle. Given the state of the country, he could only imagine what sort of sick supernatural tales the Russian nation had come up with.

"Well, in that cas-"

" _Shhh!"_

The boy stopped so suddenly that Germany bumped into his back. The smile that had started growing on the German's face melted into an aggravated scowl once more.

"Wh-?"

" _Shhh!"_ snapped the boy, dropping Germany's leash and pulling out his German's glare became an expression of surprised dread as the child crouched down in a defensive hunting position and hissed, "We're being followed."

* * *

Imagine this: you just performed for an audience of over a hundred people. You're standing on stage, waiting.

They are silent. No movement. No clapping, no booing. _Nothing._ Emptiness. Your palms become sweaty as you wait, wait to know what they thought. Nothing. You wait longer, your heart beating as you pray for some sort of reaction, anything at this point, just so you can _know_ what they thought.

That's what you do to me when you don't review! Please tell me what you think!

Thanks for reading regardless! Updates still coming in like lightening! I have the next three chapters all written out!


	9. Kucyk

Germany froze like a deer in the middle of traffic. Israel crouched, his bow and arrow at the ready, his hazel eyes darting in the direction that he had apparently heard their follower coming from. The child's lack of size certainly gave him an advantage over Germany as far as movement in the thicket went: his diminutive figure didn't attract attention and he was able to move while hardly making a sound.

"Crouch," the boy commanded. "Slowly. Then stay still."

Germany, not wanting to be a sitting duck, cautiously obeyed, expecting a bullet to fly over his head at any moment.

No bullets flew, however, and the child crept closer to their follower. Germany squinted and his heart faltered when he saw a huge silhouette partially concealed by the branches and bushes.

"You see it?" he whispered. The boy nodded.

"Well, shoot it!" hissed Germany, knowing full well that even if it was a German human, the Ghost wouldn't be able to kill it. If it was a Pole he wouldn't be able to kill it either, but at least shooting their pursuer would give them enough time to escape.

Israel, however, sighed in exasperation and glanced up at the sky.

"Can You believe this guy?" he whispered, this time speaking in the tongue of the personified nations rather than his native Hebrew. Germany arched an eyebrow and then felt his heart sink once more. Fantastic: he had been captured by a _crazy_ ex-country. England sometimes claimed to talk to odd magical creatures…maybe the child was doing something similar.

Instead of shooting the shadowy form, Israel slowly approached, his bow still at the ready. Germany watched helplessly as the boy got so close that he could have probably tackled whatever was chasing them. The boy hid behind a tree, peeked out at their pursuer…

And then burst into a fit of joyful laughter.

"Kucyk!" he cried, throwing his bow and arrow down and running right up to the creature. Germany heard an animalistic snort. The German rose to his full height just as their follower burst from the bushes.

A horse.

Germany let out a lengthy groan. As if he hadn't been embarrassed enough on this little adventure, a damn _horse_ had actually made him _scared._ He was going to need to win a lot of battles against the Allies whenever he got out of this situation to restore his thoroughly damaged pride.

Germany inspected the animal. It was light brown, with great black eyes that twinkled as they turned towards Israel. It was obviously a young horse, not yet fully groan, and the visible bony bumps along its ribcage indicated that it hadn't been eating well for some time. Perhaps its growth had been stunted as a result, though it was still large enough to carry a man, likely without much trouble. The horse was obviously domesticated; it lacked a saddle and reins, but he could see that slightly-rusted horseshoes decorated its hooves.

As if the horseshoes weren't enough of an indication that it was accustomed to being around humans, the horse ran right to Israel and nuzzled the child's neck with its snout, snorting in what Germany assumed to be an affectionate manner. The boy giggled.

"Good boy! Okay, okay, get off!" He playfully pushed the horse back, but the beast wasn't giving up that easily. It went right back to the boy, this time nuzzling his head, sniffing his too-large olive-green cap.

"Hey, hey! You stupid animal!" laughed the boy, clearly kidding. "C'mere, you! Ugh! You smell like shit!"

But in spite of the boy's insistence that the horse smelled like shit, he wrapped his arms around the horse's head and gave him a big kiss on the nose.

"I hate to interrupt your reunion," sighed Germany, "but should I assume this is Poland's horse?"

The boy looked up and smirked, nodding once.

"Uh huh," he said. "Thought your people took 'im away when ya' captured Feliks."

"I knocked Poland off the horse after it started to slow down," explained Germany. "I sent some of my men to capture the horse, but obviously they didn't succeed."

"Good thing, huh Kucyk?" asked Israel, looking up at the horse and ruffling his mane. The horse, Kucyk, turned its gaze to Germany. Apparently horses had very, _very_ good memories when it came to enemies of their masters because he whinnied aggressively and stomped towards Germany, snapping his teeth and nearly rearing up on his hind legs.

"Israel…!" said Germany with a hint of fear and a stab of embarrassment. Although he hated feeling fright because of a horse once more, the beast could easily break his skull if he kicked him in the head.

Fortunately, the child seemed to want his prisoner relatively intact because he jumped between the horse and the German, putting a hand on the horse's long nose.

"Hey, hey! Kucyk! No, down!" he ordered in a sharp yet surprisingly tender voice. The horse whipped its head from side to side and snorted as if to communicate its ire before it obeyed the Jewish Ghost and stood down.

While the horse continued to give the German a withering look (at least Germany _sensed_ that it was a withering look: the horse didn't exactly glare) Israel looked over at he German and smiled wryly.

"Did the Aryan superman just squeak in fear?" asked the boy tauntingly. Germany felt his face heat up in humiliation.

"I did not _squeak._ "

"Sounded like a squeak t'me," chuckled Israel. "Wha'da you think, Kucyk? Sound like a squeak to you?"

Kucyk snorted.

"Two against one!" the boy declared, "So you want me t' start calling you Mouse instead of Spit-Shine?"

"The latter is preferable," huffed Germany, "though I'd still prefer you to called me by my actual name. Furthermore, I have every right to be afraid when a giant horse nearly kicks my head off."

"Can ya' blame him? I'd try an' kick your head off too, but I'm a gentle soul. Kucyk here, though, he's got a temper."

Kucyk gave Israel's ear a sloppy kiss.

"Eugh! Kucyk!" cried the child, playfully swatting the horse away. "If ya' disagree just say so!"

The horse replied by trying to give the boy another lick.

"Ah ah!" cried the boy, grabbing the horse's face and holding him at bay, smiling widely. "Don't have time for kisses and slobber right now, Kucyk. This German fucker and I're goin' to find Feliks. You wanna come with?"

Although Germany was ninety percent sure that the animal couldn't understand most of what Israel was saying, the twinkle in the horse's eyes visibly brightened when the name of his master dropped from the boy's lips. If the beast didn't understand most of the child's speech, he at the very least could recognize the sound of his master's name.

The horse licked Israel's' cheek. The boy let out a cry that was a curious mix of delight and disgust.

"Ugh! Stupid animal, enough of that!" cried Israel, walking to the horse's side and giving him a light smack on the shoulder. "Last thing I need is horse spit all over my face, I already smell bad enough."

"There's a statement of truth," muttered Germany.

"Hey, did I ask for your opinion, Spit-Shine?" asked Israel, picking up his bow and arrow and putting them back. "Don't worry, though: you'll start fitting in real soon. Live in a forest long enough and a horse starts smelling like a rose compared t'you. Right, Kucyk?"

Kucyk swatted at a fly with his tail. Clean-loving Germany shuddered at the thought of becoming so dirty.

"Well, y'know what this means, Spit-Shine?" asked Israel, stroking Kucyk's matted coat.

"We have another mouth to feed?"

"He's a fucking horse: give him some grass and he's good," sighed Israel, rolling his eyes. He climbed onto the horse's back.

"Nah, it means we don't gotta walk anymore," said Israel.

"Thank God," muttered Germany, approaching the horse and struggling to climb on. It was hard enough to hop on when the horse lacked a saddle, but doing so while his hands were bound was frustratingly difficult.

"Thank God," Israel concurred before looking up at the sky, smiling, and saying something in Hebrew.

"What on earth are you saying?" asked Germany, managing to lift himself halfway onto the horse.

"None'a your business: wasn't talkin' to you," replied Israel rather defensively. "C'mon. Poor Kucyk lost his saddle, so you've gotta hold on tight."

"Right, just let me…"

"Too late! _Hut-hut!_ "

Germany cried out as the horse suddenly rushed forward before he could even hope to get properly situated on the beast's back. The German went flying off the horse, landing face-first in the dirt. The child didn't ride off without his prisoner, however, and stopped the horse. He looked over his shoulder and smiled impishly at the German.

"Oh, I'm just fuckin' with ya'!" he laughed. "Need some help?"

Germany slammed his forehead on the forest floor and moaned, "I changed my mind: let's walk instead."

* * *

I looked as hard as I could for the name of Poland's pony, but apparently it doesn't have a canon name (as far as I could find). So I gave it one. And since Poland just called it 'Pony' in the movie I decided to do the same thing. Kucyk literally just means 'Pony'.

Well, according to Google Translate, so I'm about 85% certain that Kucyk means pony.

Also, special thanks to Regena of the forest for leaving an awesomely long review! In all seriousness, guys, I'm happy this fic is getting a lot of views, but I'd be even happier with a review here or there. Even if it's only one word from a non-signed-in guest, reviews give me a little burst of happiness and motivation. And when writer's block or wrist cramps start to set in, I need all the motivation and happiness I can get.

So, in other words, please review! I'll be back soon, and with a country I'm sure you'll all be happy to see.


	10. The Hero Knows

America could feel his heart sink a centimeter for every millimeter of red that turned to ebony.

He stood in the midst of the empty World Meeting Headquarters. Under normal circumstances, the building would be busting with activity, filled with the familiar and strangely charming sound of countries bickering and running to and fro.

But the world was not united, and the nations of the globe were far too busy handling their own affairs to conduct open meetings. The Allies had decided not to let the building go to waste and made it their base of operations, but right now Alfred's friends weren't with him in the disturbingly dark and devoid-of-life room. America was alone.

For now. The American smiled. His hearing had always been particularly keen, perhaps to compensate for his need to wear glasses, and so he heard the opening and shutting of a door long before the visitor entered the hall that led to the meeting room. England. He could tell just from the sound of the nation's strait: swift, serious, but still light and agile footsteps.

Surely enough, the English nation entered, his thick eyebrows knit in a manner that America recognized as an indication of deep disturbance. Despite this, however, the Brit somehow managed to force a smile onto his face when he looked at his brother.

"There you are, blighter…" muttered England. "Been lookin' bloody everywhere for you. You owe me: I had to go to France and ask him where you were. Not a pleasant experience, and I'm not doing it for your sake again, you hear?"

"Sure thing, Iggy," laughed America, and even the American's normally chipper laugh was somewhat dampened.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?" England sighed.

"You let me call you that when I was a kid."

"Yes, well, you were actually cute as a kid. Now you're just…"

"A hero?"

"I was going to say 'annoying', but believe whatever you want."

America didn't even have the energy or playfulness to continue bantering with his older brother. Instead, he turned his bright eyes back to the Map.

The Map that decorated the wall of the World Meeting Headquarters was no mere map. It had existed almost as long as countries had existed. Nobody knew exactly where it had come from, but it had been tossed from country to country until it eventually ended up on the wall of the Headquarters.

The reason the Map was so special was because it wasn't frozen in time. It moved with the borders of the nations, constantly showing how the borders of existing nations expanded or shrunk. When nations disappeared, they first disappeared from the Map, and when a new nation was formed their name and home appeared on its ancient surface.

And currently, the Map was showing a very, very disheartening image. A huge black blob labeled 'Nazi Germany' had already devoured most of Europe, and the black line was making its way into the red territory labeled 'The Soviet Union'.

"How's Ivan doing?" England asked, standing next to his brother and stiffening when he saw the growing splotch of darkness.

"Not good," sighed America. The black line continued to eat up the red, moving further and further east.

Then it stopped.

"Wait…" whispered America, hope returning to his disparaged heart as the black blob's expansion was suddenly halted.

They stared at the suddenly-still map for what felt like a full minute.

Then the red Soviet Union splotch's line moved slightly west. Had England and America not been scrutinizing the Map so closely they probably wouldn't have noticed, but notice they did, and bright smiles lit up their faces in unison.

"Haha!" laughed America, clenching his fists triumphantly. "Go get 'im, Ivan, you crazy jerk!"

"Bloody hell, he actually stopped him," whispered England in admiring astonishment. "Good on ya', Ivan. Now keep it up."

"You think something happened to Germany?" America asked in a nearly giddy manner.

"Don't know. Hopefully," said England. "Maybe he tripped on all Italy's excess uselessness."

"That's one way to lose a war!" chuckled America. "Man oh man, I really thought he was gonna take out Ivan."

"He's clearly going to have to work harder at _that_ goal," sighed England. His expression and tone became severely somber as he said. "Alfred…listen, I've got to tell you something. It's not…pleasant."

"War's not pleasant, Arthur."

"True enough. But this is…sick."

The English nation drew a picture out of his pocket.

"You remember those rumors me and France were spreading about Germany?" he asked. "The ones about…killing people. Hundreds of them? _Millions_ of them?"

America nodded hesitantly.

"They're true."

He shoved the picture into America's hands before America could even hope to prepare himself for what it showcased.

Bodies. Hundreds of naked, dead bodies shoved unceremoniously into a ditch. Several black-clad men, SS officers, stood above the corpses, gazing down on them with what seemed to be satisfaction.

America almost became ill right then, but he managed to toss the picture onto the table behind him before he could retch.

"How…many…?" he asked

"Tough to say. My boss hasn't given me much information, and poor Latvia was barely able to smuggle that picture to us. He was bawling his eyes out, the poor boy. Funny thing is…he says he's not falling to shreds like he should be, what with all his people dying…"

America stiffened. _He_ knew full well why Latvia and probably most of the other countries weren't writhing in agony as their Jews were being slaughtered. One little nation that represented all of their Jews was running around somewhere in Europe, and he was more than likely suffering in their stead.

"Is there anything we can do?" America whispered. England shrugged somberly.

"Win the war fast as possible. That's the best we can do. That and help any Jews we manage to come across…. _fuck!"_

"Arthur…" America started to say, but the Brit's green eyes were smoldering with self-loathing.

"I should have let them into my home!" England snarled. "Damn me! I let some in, but….fuck! I didn't think even Germany would go this far! I thought they were overreacting and…I didn't want them in my country! They're _odd,_ Alfred! They're odd, odd people and I didn't want too many of them! They're odd, but they're not _bad_. They certainly don't deserve…"

"England!" snapped America, grabbing his brother's shoulder, his normally bright and cheerful eyes hardening severely. "I did the same thing. I didn't wanna get involved, so I didn't wanna let anyone in! We'll beat ourselves up about it later, but for now we need to focus on taking out the _real_ bad guys: Germany and his boss."

England inhaled and forced himself to nod, though inside he continued to berate himself for his failure to give sanctuary to more people. All of those people in that Latvian ditch might have been alive if he just…

He shook his head. Alfred was right. No use wallowing in guilt now. That would come later, _after_ he made Hitler pay for all this misery.

"In that case," said England, "we should go while the Germans are stopped. Ivan won't be able to hold them for long without us beating them from the other side."

"Uh huh," America agreed with a nod. "Then go call your boss and tell him we're heading back to the front lines. I'll call mine."

"Right," said England, and with that he dashed out of the meeting room. America prepared to follow, but paused to look at the Map one final time. This time, however, his eyes were not on Europe.

He looked down at a small blotch of land that rested in the Middle East. It was currently a brown blob labeled 'The British Mandate of Palestine', but America knew that long ago, before the war, before the Depression, before he had even been born, it had been the home of the world's only Jewish nation.

The Jewish nation that was in trouble.

The Jewish nation that was probably dying.

He took a deep breath and looked up at the black stain that was Nazi Germany. A determined fire came to his blue eyes.

"Your hero's on his way, little buddy," he muttered. "Hang in there."

With that, America ran out of the meeting room, leaving it dark and empty.

Well, sort of.

In fact, the World Meeting Headquarters wasn't as empty as America had thought. Another nation, so similar in appearance to America that were he seen more often he might have been mistaken for his brother, sat at the table. With one arm he cradled a little baby polar bear while he reached out towards the picture that America had left on the table with the other.

His gentle eyes became watery when he saw the picture. He let it fall from his fingers and wrapped both arms around his polar bear, squeezing the little animal to help soothe the somber ache in his heart.

Canada looked up at the Map and a single word left his quiet lips.

"Israel…"

* * *

So, in case you didn't know, both America and England only accepted a small amount of Jewish refugees during the Second World War. Even after getting reports of the extreme abuse the Jews were suffering, the governments kept their quotas in check. Even after the war ended and the horrors of the Holocaust were revealed, many officials from the Western Nations didn't want Jews in their borders. One Canadian official, when asked about how many Jews would be allowed into Canada, replied, "None is too many."

As you can imagine, our favorite hero and his friends are feeling real bad about that policy now.

On a lighter note: a very special thanks to Lizzosaurus, Abc, and Unnamed Guest for leaving reviews! Remember guys: it only takes one little word in that review box to make my day and help this story to grow. Please review!

Thanks a bunch for reading, favoriting, and following! Oh, also, shout-out to my Canadian readers: thanks guys, glad to have so many of you!

I'll be back soon! Updates are still coming in regularly! Be back on Friday at the latest!


	11. Observations

Israel talked to the sky a lot.

At least that was what Germany thought the boy was doing, though since the boy always conversed in Hebrew he couldn't tell if he was talking to the clouds or some sort of imaginary friend. But either way, over the time (what must have been weeks) that Germany, Israel, and Kucyk rode through the woods, the German started to notice several things about the boy.

He wished he had his diary with him so that he could jot his observations down, but unfortunately his hands remained bound and so he had to make his notes mentally.

 _Observation 1: The Jew talks to the sky_

 _At several intervals, especially at night when he thinks I have gone to sleep, the Jew will speak in what appears to be a casual manner to the sky. He pauses only rarely during these 'conversations', and so I am left to assume that whatever entity he believes he's speaking to isn't speaking back. He smiles when he talks to the sky, so that is one activity he seems to enjoy._

 _Observation 2: The Jew is sick_

 _Not in a metaphorical manner, I mean literally. Again, he tends to hide it unless he believes that I'm asleep, but I have woken up in the night many times to the sound of his coughing. It's ragged, and any doctor would probably send him to an emergency room if he heard him coughing like that. As it were, he usually recovers fine and is ready to keep riding by morning, but he's always pale and he has bags under his eyes. I also think he's getting skinnier, if that's even possible. He becomes extremely agitated, however, if his obvious illness is brought up._

 _Observation 3: The Jew is…kind_

That was the hardest observation for him to come to grips with, but objectively speaking he couldn't deny it. Israel, the apparently cruel and callus country, the Jewish nation that was supposed to have a soul as black as a raven's feathers…was a kind boy.

For all of his cursing and occasional impish pranks he never laid a hand on his prisoner. No slaps, no kicks, no humiliation. He didn't force the German to lick his shoes or cut off Germany's head just for fun knowing full well that his prisoner would be fine even if he was temporarily dismembered. The most the child did to physically harm him was yank on his ropes a little too hard or give him a light kick in the morning if he refused to get up. But there was no abuse, no agony, nothing.

The child didn't even allow him to go hungry. Whatever amount of food that the child managed to find was shared with his prisoner, half and half. He didn't devour all of the food and leave the German nation famished, even though doing so would have been advantageous to him. Starving the German would weaken him and his people, it would weaken his armies, and it would make him all the easier to control.

Yet Israel gave as much as he could.

The child didn't even try to cause him serious emotional damage. He tried to converse with the German several times, and even though Germany usually shut down the conversation before it could begin the few times he actually did speak to the Jewish boy…

Israel liked talking about books and music. He made fun of the German and his boss and occasionally nagged him about working for such a 'fucking loon', but most of the time he just wanted to talk about stuff. Normal stuff. He rarely bragged about his victory over the German unless Germany 'started it' by saying something that offend the Jewish Ghost. Israel never taunted Germany that his people were dying. He never threatened to cut off his fingers one by one.

He never acted like an SS officer. He never acted like Germany so often did when _he_ captured an enemy.

Not only was he kind to Germany, he also tended to be kind to any creature they happened across on their way to Lithuania. At one point they were stetting up camp and Germany heard a pitiful little chirping. He turned his head and saw a little baby bird hopping up and down at the foot of a tree.

Israel had noticed too, and Germany had felt his heart freeze when the child started to make his way towards the twittering hatchling. Himmler had told his nation many times that the Jews were exceptionally cruel to animals. Although Israel clearly cared for Kucyk, Germany had assumed that Poland's horse was the exception to the general rule. He waited with a roiling stomach, waited for the child to draw his blade and cut the baby bird in two.

But instead, the child had scooped up the baby bird. Germany had then cringed, thinking that perhaps the Jew planned on crushing the bird, but the child merely whipped off his olive green cap and plopped the bird on top of his head.

"Hold tight, little bud," he said before crawling up the tree. He dropped the baby bird into its nest and then dropped down, grabbing his army cap and putting it back on his head.

Germany and Israel both went hungry that night, and neither of them felt particularly bad about that.

Germany didn't feel bad. He felt confused. Especially when the child's stomach started to snarl.

"I have a question," Germany said at last. The child, who had been stroking Kucyk's nose, looked up at his prisoner with an amused grin.

"Oh? Spit-Shine speaks? Do tell…"

"Why didn't you kill the bird?"

Israel snorted and looked at Kucyk.

"Hear that, boy?" he cooed, "the German's disappointed that I didn't kill the baby birdie. Pretty dumb, huh? It wouldn't have even given us a full stomach."

Kucyk grunted. Germany made a very similar noise.

"I'm not complaining," he said. "But your kind usually don't hesitate to slaughter helpless animals in a gruesome manner."

"'My kind'? I preferred it when you just called us the damn Jews."

"Fine. _The damn Jews_ kill animals. Bloodily. I saw it. It was awful."

"You must mean kosher slaughtering," said Israel with a shake of his head. Kucyk's ears perked up warily. Although Germany still wasn't convinced that the animal could understand the speech of the nations even he had to admit that the horse was strangely intuitive. Apparently intuitive enough to hear the word 'slaughter' and grow nervous.

"Oh, calm down, ya' big baby," chuckled Israel, tousling the horse's mane. "We're not talking about _you._ I haven't eaten horse before. Not even sure if it's kosher…hmmm…wish I had my Torah with me so I could look that up…"

Kucyk huffed argumentatively.

"Even if it _was_ kosher I wouldn't eat you, you smelly old animal," laughed Israel. "Speaking of animals, though, Spit-Shine, where exactly did'ja see a kosher slaughtering?"

"In a film," said Germany confidently. "The poor cow as writhing in pain for ten minutes…"

"I see…and who made that film?"

Germany's smile deflated. "Ahm…it was a Goebbels film…"

"A Goebbels film, hm? Made by the minister of propaganda that's working for the Jew-hating fucktard you call a boss. Oh, yeah, I'm sure _that's_ a reliable source."

The Jew leaned back against the lying-down Kucyk and said, "Believe it or not I like animals, and believe it or not us Jews don't like killing them. Kosher slaughtering is fast and pain-free, and it makes every cow special. We bless it and thank it and make sure it…"

"Cutting a cow's throat? That's merciful?" spat Germany.

"Putting the cow in a cramped little pen and makings its life a living hell before killing it and hundreds of its friends, not caring about it at all," said Israel swiftly. " _That's_ merciful?"

Germany was silent. The Jewish child had a point. He knew full well that the process of getting meat was uncomfortable for most animals, even when Germans did it…and even he had to admit that Goebbels was prone to exaggeration.

So maybe the Jew was telling the truth.

 _Maybe._

It would explain the bird, and it would explain why Kucyk seemed to like him so much.

"I don't get it," whispered the German.

"Don't get what, Spit-Shine?"

Germany cringed, remembered himself, and glared at the Jewish Ghost.

"Nothing," he replied crisply. "This conversation is over."

Israel gave an exasperated sigh. "Fine. No use in arguing with ya' when ya' feel like being a stubborn jackass, Spit-Shine."

"Stop calling me that!" snapped Germany for what must have been the fortieth time.

"Don't get so testy," said Israel. "I could'a called you something much worse. You always just call me 'Jew'."

"Well, you _are_ a Jew."

"Yeah, but it's still not a very polite thing to call someone. How'd you like it if I just called you 'Christian'?"

"Fine, fine," sighed Germany. "Then what do you want me to call you?"

"Besides just 'Israel'…I da' know. Cuddles, Jumpy, Talks-too-Much."

Kucyk snorted.

"Snorts, that's a good one," said Israel, smiling at the horse and scratching behind the animal's ears.

"I'm not going to give you some sort of ridiculous pet name," huffed Germany. "Don't you have a human name?"

"Sure do!"

"Well…?"

"What's yours?"

Germany stiffened and gave a curt shake of his head. "I don't think we're close enough for me to divulge that."

"Well, there ya' go," said Israel. "You won't tell me yours, I won't tell ya' mine. So it looks like I'm still Jew and you're still Spit-Shine."

He turned his face away from the German and coughed several times. Germany flinched with every cough that the Jewish child gave.

"I…Israel…"

"Don't ya' mean 'Jew'?"

"No…are you all right?"

Israel's hazel eyes shimmered with something resembling shock, but it was hard for Germany to decipher what the child was feeling since the boy was covering his face, waiting for another cough.

"What do you care?" Israel hissed in the most poisonous tone he had used since he had first captured the German.

Germany inhaled and replied, "I don't. I'm just asking. You've been coughing a lot. You're…"

"Fine," the child insisted, wiping his lip, and even in the dark Germany could see a scarlet liquid stain the child's sleeve.

Blood.

The child was coughing up blood.

Alarm bells started to go off in the German's head. Blood was bad enough for humans to expel, but when nations bled it meant that their people were dead. A lot of them. Every drop of blood that escaped from their bodies represented ten of their people that had just lost their lives. Rarely did a nation actually cough up blood, and Germany, being a young nation, didn't know if that was better or worse than suddenly gaining scars and bleeding from those when his people were killed.

But either way, some of Israel's people just died. A lot of them, judging from the size of the stain on the child's sleeve.

Germany knew that the Jews were dying. It was war and the Jews were the enemy. Of course they were dying, according to Hitler they deserved nothing less.

But actually seeing the little boy cough and bleed, knowing that it was partially because of him, knowing that somewhere a great many Jews had just died in unison.

It made Germany's heart sink, and it made him want to say something. Not apologize, of course (for he was still convinced that he had nothing to apologize for), but say something.

The child, however, gave him no such chance. Israel glanced down at the stain and then hid it from Germany's view, turning away from the German and stubbornly squeezing his eyes shut.

"Isra…!"

"I said I'm fine!" snapped the child, "Go to sleep, we've gotta get up tomorrow!"

"Is…"

" _Sleep!"_

Germany tried to respond, but he couldn't think of what to say. Kucyk spent the next twenty minutes or so glowering at the German before the child's breathing became gentle and both horse and nation knew that the little Jewish Ghost was asleep.

It was then that Germany decided that he had better follow Israel's orders and sleep. There was nothing he could do or say right now, after all, and he would only make things worse if he was too tired to wake up in the morning.

So he decided that perhaps tomorrow they could sort something out. Until then, he lied down on his side and grunted as Hitler's persistent voice began its nightly ritual of begging the nation to obey his order.

 _Kill Israel…Kill Israel…_

Germany grunted and tried to listen closely to the sound of the crickets singing, hoping that their melody would somehow help him to ignore the sound of Hitler's voice.

It didn't work. The Order was getting louder.

* * *

Hey, guys. I'm sorry if there were a few errors in this chapter as far as grammar goes. I looked over it once, but I'm really not in the mood for thorough editing right now. I just moved to a new place and I'm real homesick. Correct me on any mistakes I made and I'll go back and fix it later.

*Sad sigh* I miss my room.

Actually, today in general has been bad. My fanfic account isn't showing traffic stats anymore for some stupid reason, so now I'll have no clue how many people are actually reading the story (unless you review/fav/follow, of course)

Speaking of which, special thanks to Abc (and feel free to rant about that! Also, thanks for mentioning that book, I'll have to go try and find it), thecatsandthebats, and LoverofTragedies for leaving reviews. I'd really appreciate reviews this time around, you guys. I'm really feeling down right now.

Regardless, I should be able to update on time by next Friday. See you then (hopefully).


	12. Mother Russia

"Uhm…Lieutenant Braginski…?"

The young Russian soldier timidly approached his commanding officer. The Lieutenant was standing on the edge of a hill overlooking an expansive Polish forest. Though the Lieutenant currently had his back to the soldier, the young Russian knew from experience that the Lieutenant was probably smiling cheerfully. Even when his heart wasn't cheerful, even when the worst war in history was happening, the Lieutenant always seemed to be smiling.

The Lieutenant turned, revealing that indeed he was smiling. His cheeks were rosy from being nipped by General Winter's arctic breath, and his hair was covered by a fuzzy hat. At his side was a metal pipe covered in brown stains that the young soldier had to hope was rust. The Lieutenant wore a long overcoat and a white scarf that was currently whipping about in the wind, and his black-gloved hands lovingly clutched the stems of three wilting sunflowers.

The Lieutenant was also tall. Very tall. Inhumanly tall, almost.

The young Russian soldier did not and would never know it, but Lieutenant Ivan Braginski was, in fact, not a human.

The nation of Russia smiled warmly at his bumbling little officer and held the sunflowers out towards him.

"Look at these, Vladmir," he chirped. "Aren't they so pretty? And to think I found them all by themselves in this horrible place. So sad, but they're with me now. Would you like one?"

"They're lovely, sir, but I think you should keep them," stuttered Vladmir, knowing full well what had happened to the last guy who hadn't complimented Lieutenant Braginski's sunflowers…and then what had happened to the guy who had actually dared to take one of his precious flowers.

"You're right," said Russia, turning his shimmering eyes down to the dying plants and tenderly running his thumb over their browning petals. Such lovely things didn't belong in Eastern Poland all by themselves. They belonged in a warm place, a sunny place. So did Russia. He belonged in the sun. He deserved the sun.

But the sun would have to wait. The dark was approaching his heart, and he had only recently been able to stop it. The Germans wanted to crush everything in their path, even pretty sunflowers. What heartless monsters.

But fortunately Russia was there. He was there to save the sunflowers…and the nations, too. Now they would become one with Mother Russia for sure, after he saved them from Germany, after he crushed that filthy traitor's head under his boot like a rotten melon…

Russia realized that he was letting his anger get to him and was starting to crush his beloved sunflowers. He inhaled the cold, crisp air to calm his spirit down and beamed at his soldier.

"Is something wrong, Vladmir?"

"Erg, yes…well…no…uh…" Vladmir stumbled, cursing himself as his tied-up tongue failed to form the correct words.

"Please speak up, Vladmir, and be a little more specific."

"I…right…sir…well…" muttered Vladmir, "Some of our nearby scouts have just sent us a strange report. They said they saw two people and a horse wandering through the woods not far from here. Both of them were speaking in a language that the scouts couldn't understand….not Polish or anything…some language they couldn't even recognize…"

Nations then. Russia nodded for Vladmir to continue.

"Well…one of them was a young child…and…the other was a man in a German uniform. Blonde hair, blue eyes, apparently doesn't talk much unless he's yelling…"

Russia felt his heartbeat quicken. Germany.

 _Oh, Ludwig's come back to play some more…and he brought a friend! I wonder who it could be? Ah! Well, that won't matter. I don't feel like playing with him anymore, not after he was so mean the last time we played…_

"Vladmir," cooed Russia, "I want you to take me to the place where this strange pair is supposed to be…and bring as much flammable liquid as you can."

"F-flammable…?"

"Yes, yes. It's unfortunate, but sometimes you must roast a tree to plant a garden"

"And…you're going yourself, sir?"

"Oh, yes, I must," said Russia walking towards the young Russian soldier, who began sweating so much that his hair became moist.

"This German needs to be punished," said Russia, "and I'm the only one who can and should be the one to send him to his time-out."

* * *

Shorter chapter here: sorry, guys, still overwhelmed with the workload and new place.

Very special thanks to trembling hand for leaving a review, and not to worry: I plan on finishing this story no matter what. However, the time and distance between updates does depend on you guys. I have other stories to work on and while I am going to finish this story even if only one person is reading it, reviews really do give me the motivation to write/edit for this one and update all the faster, especially given the fact that I've moved and writing has become a luxury rather than an everyday occurrence.

In other words, if you like this story, please leave a review! It doesn't have to be long, it can be critical, but I like getting the opinion of the folks who are reading.

Also, yay! My traffic stats are working again! Now I can see how many of you guys are reading! Panic over!

Also, shout-out to the one person in Russia who, according to my traffic stats, is reading this! Спасибо!

I should be back next week! I fortunately have the next chapter all written out, it just needs editing! See you soon!


	13. Miracle Child

_Once upon a time…_

 _A little boy was standing in the midst of a small flock of sheep. He was young, very young, with raven-black hair and hazel eyes that twinkled with delight as he rushed back and forth, chasing a lamb with soft white fleece._

 _Israel. The boy was Israel. Israel, who looked no older than five by human standards, giggled with delight, but his delight soon turned to pain as he tripped and fell face-first in the dust. The child sat up and immediately burst into tears, wailing at the top of his little lungs._

 _A young man, very handsome, wearing a coat that bore more colors than a rainbow, ran to Israel and knelt down beside him. The man with the coat of many colors gently helped the child to his feet and even let him wipe his tears on his colorful coat. Israel slowly stopped crying and then smiled, wrapping his little arms around the man's leg and squeezing affectionately._

 _The scene melted away and both of them, Israel and the man with the colorful coat, were sitting at the feet of an old man with the kindest eyes that God had ever given to any of His children. The old man beckoned to the boy and Israel climbed onto his lap. The old man with the gentle eyes pointed towards the sky, which was bathed in color as the sun set._

" _Everything you see, Israel, everything, light and dark, is part of God's creation. The sweet little sheep you play with and the ugly scorpions that scare you…they're both God's creatures and you must treat them with love and respect. Never kill or cause harm unless you are in danger, and even then be very careful. Never forget all that God has done for you, Israel. Never forget that everything is His. Never forget Him."_

" _Never," the child agreed, shaking his head and smiling up at the sky just as the stars began to emerge. The man with the colorful coat tousled the child's hair._

" _Father," he said, "I don't think you have to worry. Israel's a bit naughty sometimes, but his heart's with Him."_

" _As is yours, Joseph," said the kind-eyed old man, placing a hand on his son's shoulder and squeezing proudly. The three seemed quite content, but none of them noticed several men in the distance, several men who shared Joseph's features and glared at him with hateful jealousy._

 _The scene melted away. It was dark out. Very dark. Even the stars had abandoned the heavens. Israel was peeking out of a tent, watching as the men from before, the men with jealousy in their eyes, presented something to the kind-eyed old man. Israel squinted closely and his heart stopped when he saw what it was: the coat, Joseph's colorful coat, covered in blood._

 _Israel, feeling ill, retreated into the tent just as Joseph's father took the coat with trembling hands and collapsed to his knees, wailing with woe…_

Germany gasped and awoke with a start. The hot of the desert, the sorrow in his heart, it all vanished as he remembered who and where he was. He sat bolt upright and the cold night air nipped at his cheeks, confirming that he was indeed back in Europe and the Middle-Eastern country that had seemed so real a moment ago had merely been part of a very vivid dream.

No. Not a dream. A memory. A memory that didn't belong to him.

His bright blue eyes darted towards the Jewish child and he half expected to see the boy performing some sort of England-like magic spell to give the German nation strange nocturnal visions. The Jewish Ghost was performing no such ritual, however. He was curled up against Kucyk, shivering in his sleep. It was a rather cold night, and Germany could presume that the child had thin skin when it came to frost. After all, it seemed as though he had been reared in the middle of a warm desert. The icy nights that plagued Eastern Europe must have been hard for him.

The German shook his head. What _was_ that? It couldn't have just been some random dream. It had felt too real, and he had no reason to dream of Israel's experiences. It wasn't as though the nations were regularly battered with dreams about their enemies' childhoods. He would be an expert on Russia's background by now if that were the case.

So what was that? Where had it come from? Who were those people he had seen? One of them had been named Joseph, obviously a Jewish name, and something about that name rang a bell. It wasn't somebody Germany had met before, but it was someone he had heard of.

Who…Why…How…the questions all buzzed around in his mind like a swarm of irate bees until he finally groaned and laid down once more, squeezing his eyes shut and praying to the Good Lord that he could just fall asleep again and forget about the dream-vision.

Thankfully, the dream didn't return when Germany eventually managed to drift into oblivion. Unfortunately, drifting back into slumberland took a very, very long time. And all the while Hitler's obnoxious and impatient voice continued to give him a command.

 _Kill Israel…Kill…Israel…_

* * *

Short chapter again, folks. Real sorry, but work's piling up right now.

Getting into a bit of back-story for Israel here. Ten points to the first person who knows what story that little flashback/dream was referencing (I'll give you a hint: it's in the Bible.)

Thanks to everyone for reading! Please oh please review! I might not be able to make the next update by Friday since work is getting overbearing, but your reviews give me strength and motivation!

Also, yay! A thousand views! (*Happy dance, happy dance*)

Hopefully I'll see you guys soon!


	14. Almost There

"Oy! Spit-Shine! Up and at 'em!"

"Ugh… _Bruder_ …give me a break…" moaned Germany drowsily, for a moment mistaking the cocky voice that roused him from his slumber as that of his older brother.

" _Bruder_? Thought you said you didn't have a brother, Spit-Shine! You didn't tell me earlier? I'm hurt!"

Of course, it didn't take long for the child's voice to register in Germany's mental record of people that annoyed him. He peeked through his eyelashes (his eyelids felt like they had been turned to iron and couldn't be lifted all of the way no matter how much effort he put into it). The boy was standing above him, a few bags under his eyes indicating that he hadn't slept well. Other than that, however, he seemed chipper as ever, a big smile spread across his face.

Damn him for getting some sleep last night, even if it hadn't been pleasant sleep.

"Come ooooooon!" chirped the boy, poking the German's side with his muddy shoe. "Get uuuuuuuuuup! Wakey, wakey, Nazi!"

"Ugh…tired…no sleep…can't…get up…"

"Aww, how cute. Did'ya have a bad dream last night, junior? Nightmare about my icky-yucky Jewishness getting to you?"

"Please…no mocking…very tired…ten more minutes…sleep…"

"Wow, you really must be under the weather! I thought military boys got up at the crack 'a dawn! Your Fuhrer would be so disappointed! Well, whatever, fine. You stay tied up here and get some beauty sleep-Lord knows you need it-and I'm gonna scout ahead with Kucyk. See how far we've got 'till we get to the border and try an' get some food while I'm at it. We can't be too far…"

But when the child looked down the German was already curled back up, asleep. The Jewish Ghost rolled his eyes.

"Or just ignore me," he sighed, grabbing his backpack and making sure that his bow and arrow were ready before he scurried over to Kucyk, who was grazing on some foliage.

"Hey, boy," said Israel fondly, patting the horse on the nose. "Gettin' some breakfast?"

Kucyk continued to munch.

"Good. Gotta keep your strength up. C'mon, let's go off ahead. See if we can't find the German fucker and me some breakfast too. Too bad we can't all eat grass…"

He hopped on the horse's back and gently grabbed a hold of his steed's mane.

A frown crossed the young Ghost's face. No, no, not _his_ steed. Felik's steed. He shook his head and slowly started to lead Kucyk away from the camp. He had thought that perhaps Feliks would manage to escape from the German fuckers, but even swift Kucyk apparently hadn't been able to hold out against the German nation.

 _Guy must be fast when he's not getting punched in the face,_ thought the Jewish youth. _Good thing I had the sense to keep that rope with me. Never know when a Nazi's gonna find you…_

He took out one of his arrows and prepared his bow. He couldn't afford to waste too many arrows since they took an eternity to make, and he didn't have an eternity. He could only imagine what the sickos in the SS were doing to Feliks while he was waltzing around the forest.

It was almost a blessing that Germany had showed up. Israel had intentionally scribbled his letter to Feliks in the script of the nations since he hadn't wanted any random SS officer to find it, read it, and hunt him down. Ghosts weren't invincible against human opponents, after all, and the last thing he needed was a battalion of Jew-hating bastards on his ass. Any German that would have found the note would have only seen a mess of scribbles and random letters. At worst they would have thought it was some sort of code, but even then they would have never been able to find out what it said.

His luck that the one Nazi that could have possibly read the note was the one to stumble across it, but in a way he was fortunate that Germany had come along. He would have never known that Poland had been captured if Germany hadn't informed him, and traveling through Nazi-occupied Europe was, hopefully, going to be much safer with him as a shield.

 _I almost feel sorry for the bastard,_ he thought gloomily. _Fucking Hitler. Brainwashed 'im real bad. The other countries really need to start doing mental checks on potential bosses before they shove them onto a throne._

"Oy, Adonai," sighed the child, glancing towards a stream of light and pulling on Kucyk's mane, leading him towards the brightness. "Do me a favor and try an' drain the hate from the German's head, will You? I get the feeling he's not as bad as Rome or Greece…maybe as _arrogant_ , but still. I hate to see a bad boss ruin a decent country, and Germany's pretty young. Impressionable and all that. Youngsters, am I right?"

No response.

"Right," sighed Israel. A small wall of thorns and branches blocked their path. Israel hopped off of Kucyk and drew his blade.

"Stand back a bit, boy," said the Jewish Ghost. He raised his sword and managed to clear the obstacles with only a few swipes.

"There we go," he said, sheathing his blade. He clicked his tongue and gestured for Kucyk to follow him as he stepped through the threshold he had created.

The sight that greeted him made him grin. The sun was hanging vivaciously in the sky, casting its warm light upon the Polish forest. In the distance Israel could see some houses dotting the countryside, and even further ahead he could spot a sentry tower.

"Thanks, Adonai. Great view," said Israel, smiling up at the sky. "And it looks like we're almost there."

Kucyk trotted up to Israel's side and nuzzled the boy's neck.

"See that, Kucyk?" said Israel, pointing to the sentry tower. "That's Liet's land. We're so close, buddy. Just a little further, and then we can figure out where Feliks is and rescue him."

Kucyk licked the child's ear.

"Eugh! _Kucyk!"_

But while Israel and Kucyk could see the Lithuanian houses in the distance, they couldn't see a small troop of Russian soldiers that had slipped close to the forest, close to the campsite where Germany continued to snooze. They couldn't see the Russians regretfully dumping several gallons of precious fuel across the area before retreating to a safe distance and allowing their smiling Lieutenant to approach, matchbox in hand.

"Sir…" muttered one soldier rather bravely, "There might be some Jews or Poles or…even Soviet partisans…"

"Their sacrifice won't be in vain," Russia declared. Although he hated the idea of hurting his own people (except for the particularly stupid and mean ones), Russia was fairly certain that the fire would only kill the trees, animals, and two nation personifications that happened to be ambling about the woods. And once Germany was dead the war would be over, the Russians-partisans and civilians alike-would be safe, and all would be well with Russia's world once more.

"I can't lie, Germany," Russia muttered softly in the language of the nations as he lit a match and observed its lovely dancing flare for a moment, "So I won't say it was nice to know you."

His smile became wide as he whispered, "Burn, Nazi."

The match dropped from his hand and the fire began to swell and consume.

* * *

As I used to say to my math teacher after failing to hand in homework for a month: better late than never!

I'm very sorry for missing Friday's update, folks, but that might need to be a regular occurrence. I'm swamped right now, and I don't want to rush chapters while under stress and turn out an inferior product.

Your reviews, though, give me the strength and gusto to keep moving forward at a relatively fast pace. A sincere thank you to tremblinghand and my two awesome Guest reviewers. You guys are awesome, you made me update in spite of the workload.

But at any rate, Russia's back! And now our trusty little Jewish Ghost has got to escape the flames…will he? And what about Germany? Find out next time on the next episode of 'The Boy Who Lived!'

Oh, that felt so corny. Forgive me.

Please review! Thanks for reading!


	15. Plucked from the Fire

Germany awoke to the foul stench of smoke.

At first he thought (and hoped) that perhaps Israel had actually managed to bring down something of substance and was currently cooking a large meal. No such luck. The German opened his eyes and immediately had to blink as the scalding smoke pounded at his corneas.

He squeezed his eyes shut and struggled against his bonds, but the rope hadn't given way to his yanking yet and it wasn't about to break during this moment of crises. He could feel the flames spreading through their little campsite, devouring the bushes and snaking up the trees. He opened his mouth to cry out for Israel, but the ash and smoke leapt into his throat and caused him to choke and cough. He fell to his knees, sputtering, gagging, struggling for breath.

A feeble tug on his rope was the last desperate act he managed to perform before passing out.

* * *

Kucyk suddenly became stiff. The horse raised its nose and stomped his hooves, snorting and whinnying in a worried manner. Israel, who had just finished getting the last of Kucyk's slobber off his face, looked up at the horse and frowned apprehensively.

"Kucyk?" he said curiously, putting a hand on the horse's snout to try and calm him down. "What's wrong, boy? What's the matter?"

The horse obviously couldn't tell the child what was causing him to panic, but Israel's eyes shifted towards the forest, in the direction they had come from. He squinted and saw a small dancing orange glow, but the little light soon began to grow until Israel could feel the heat even from where he was standing. The Jewish Ghost's hazel eyes widened.

"Fire!" he cried. He immediately grabbed Kucyk's mane.

"C'mon, boy! We've gotta go grab Spit-Shine!"

The horse snorted in a rather argumentative manner, stepping away from the child, clearly wanting to run away from the inferno and not risk their lives by going back. Especially since they would be going back to save a Nazi.

Israel, however, refused to yield. He grabbed the horse's nose and glowered sternly into the animal's fearful black eyes.

" _Kucyk,_ " he snapped firmly, and not another word had to be said for the horse to know that the little Ghost wasn't going to flee. His resolute and almost annoyed expression caused the horse to lower his head in a despondently submissive manner and step to the side, allowing Israel to mount him and grab his mane, riding him back into the burning woods.

* * *

Although Lieutenant Braginski would have been more than happy to remain by the forest so that he could hear Germany's screams of pain as he was burned to a cinder, he noticed that his soldiers were squirming squeamishly. No doubt they were still thinking of the innocent Russian scouts that could very well end up burned to a cinder because of the Lieutenant's fire.

Although Russia certainly didn't approve of such squeamishness, he could understand it well enough and decided to be kind and lead the troops away from the burning forest so that they wouldn't be forced to see, hear, or smell anything unpleasant.

But as he was leading his troops away from the smoldering trees, a noise caused him to look up: a neigh. He turned and, in the distance, saw a pair of silhouettes, a horse and a very small rider, disappear into the forest.

The Russian soldiers were more than a bit alarmed when, for the first time in what must have been weeks, Lieutenant Braginski frowned.

"A…Lieu…sir…" stuttered one very brave soldier. The Russian nation drew his brownish pipe from his side, gripping it tightly, angrily.

"I think," he huffed, "I have a spoilsport to deal with."

* * *

Although Israel was normally fond of heat since it reminded him of his beloved home in the Middle East, even the Jewish Ghost felt sweat beads roll down his face as the flames surrounded him and Kucyk, devouring bushes and trees and getting far too close for comfort. He could almost feel the burning tongues tickle his flesh, but he rode on in spite of the temperature. Kucyk galloped as fast as was possible, trying to dodge the flaming branches that got in their way as they tried to reach the campsite.

 _Damn it,_ thought Israel, blinking as the bright light from the flames started to make his eyes ache, _if that Nazi bastard hasn't died already, he's the luckiest country that ever lived._

Somehow or another, Israel and Kucyk managed to make it past the dancing fires and back to the burning campground. Germany was on the ground, a thin layer of ash a few burnt leaves clinging to his hair and uniform. The Jewish Ghost felt his stomach seize up for a moment, but he jumped off the horse when he realized that the German nation was still breathing.

"Kucyk! C'mere!"

In two swift motions Israel unsheathed his sword and brought it down on the rope that tied Germany to the tree. He grabbed the unconscious, untied prisoner and grunted as he heaved him towards the horse.

"Ugh, holy shit, what's Hitler been feeding this guy, bricks?"

Weight notwithstanding, the tiny Jew somehow managed to lift Germany up and drape him over Kucyk. The child hastily hopped on the horse once he was certain that the prisoner was secure.

"We're good! Let's high tail it!"

Kucyk didn't need to be told twice. Israel kept his sword out as they rode away from the flames, slicing at fiery branches that obstructed their path and nearly caused their clothes and Kucyk's fur to catch on fire.

The flames had practically consumed a quarter of the woods by the time Kucyk, Israel, and Germany burst out of the thicket, mildly singed but otherwise unscathed. Israel rode Kucyk a safe distance away from the forest before he tugged on the horse's mane.

"I think we're good, buddy," he sighed, sheathing his sword. Kucyk shook his head from side to side, snorting and sneezing. Israel looked down at the ash-covered animal and chuckled, dusting him off.

"Good boy, Kucyk," he said cheerfully. "Good boy. Here, let me get this deadbeat off'a ya."

The boy jumped down and yanked Germany off of Kucyk's back. The German was still very much unconscious and landed on the ground like a limp-yet-weighty rag-doll.

"Shit," sighed Israel. He stood over the German, tilting his head to the side as he gazed down at him. Germany's hair was a mess and its golden shade had become blackish because of the ash, but he seemed to be breathing all right.

"Helllooooo?" said Israel in a singsong tone, giving Germany a gentle slap on the cheek. "Oy, Spit-Shine, c'mon, up! I am _not_ carrying your ass to Liet's house, you're way too fat for that."

The German remained unconscious.

"Oy! Nazi boy! Get up!"

Nothing.

 _Hm,_ thought Israel. _Well, maybe I can shock him awake._

"Oy! Hitler's dead! The Jews just stole your bank account! Italy's become the new Roman Empire!"

Germany moaned slightly when Israel screeched that last lie, but still he didn't awaken.

"Nothin'…all right, guess I'll have ta' waste some water…"

He took out his canteen, unscrewed it, held it above the German's head, and poured. Germany sputtered and opened his eyes. Israel grinned triumphantly.

"Haha! Works every time! Al used to get me up like that when I got tossed off'a mule. Damn mules, never as good as horses…right, Kucyk?"

"Oooh…" moaned Germany, sitting up, grabbing his throat and coughing several times. Israel frowned, sighed, and shoved the canteen towards the German.

"Here, drink," he said, "Since you insist on taking all the water."

Germany didn't take the canteen from the child. He looked down at his body and realized that he wasn't on fire, that only his uniform was singed, and that the ropes that had previously been restraining him were gone.

He looked up at the burning forest, the forest he had been minutes from dying in. The forest he should have died in.

Then he looked at the weary boy, the boy with sweat on his brow, the boy that had obviously been the one to pull him from the inferno.

"You…" he whispered incredulously, gazing up at the Jewish Ghost in astonishment. "You…came back…for me…"

"Duh," said Israel. "Now are 'ya gonna drink the fuckin' water or not?"

"Why…?" muttered the German, his head practically pounding with confusion. "Sparing me is one thing…feeding me is one thing…but…you actually risked your life to save me."

"Guess that's a no on the water," said Israel, putting his canteen away. "And as for me savin' ya…why wouldn't I?"

"I…I'm a Nazi! You said so yourself! I'm a German! I'm the enemy! I tried to kill you!"

"Well," said Israel with a shrug, "that doesn't mean I'm gonna let 'ya die in a fire. God made 'ya, and I think you're not totally evil. So…why not save 'ya?"

"I don't understand…" Germany mumbled, shaking his head.

"As long as Hitler's your lord and master, 'ya never will," said Israel. "You sure you don't need that water? 'Ya sound like a fucking dying dog."

"No…thank you…"

Israel shrugged, not realizing what the horribly confused German was trying to say. The 'thank you' he had so lamely tagged on to the end of his refusal was also a feeble attempt at conveying his gratitude. He was grateful. He was grateful to his enemy, to a black-blooded Jew.

 _I don't understand. I don't get it. Jews are supposed to be selfish above all. Selfish, treasonous…they don't save people. But their representation…he went back…he could have let me die…he should have let me die…even I would have let me die._

"Ugh! Well, that heroism took it outta me!" sighed Israel, collapsing beside Kucyk and making sure his backpack was close by. "Fuck settin' up camp, I need a break."

"I…Israel…"

"Don't ya mean 'Jew'?"

" _Israel,"_ said Germany, his weak voice regaining some of its strength, but still stumbling with confusion, "Israel…aren't you going to tie me up again?"

The boy sat up slightly, eying the German for a moment before shaking his head.

"Can't," he said. "Left the last of the rope in the woods, and I'm not gonna go back to get it. Looks like you're free, buddy. You can run if 'ya like, though I wouldn't recommend it since I doubt that fire was an act 'a nature…"

"What do you mean?"

"It came outta nowhere and spread like _that_ ," said the boy, snapping his fingers. "Too sudden, too fast. Either some idiot Poles next to us forgot to put out their campfire or…"

"Someone tried to burn us."

"Not necessarily us, they could'a just been aiming for partisans. Might'a been your guys for all we know, but that's the point. Someone started the fire. I don't know who, but someone started the fire. And they're probably runnin' around right now…and if they come across you tryin' to run back to Berlin…"

Israel drew his finger across his throat.

"But it's your call," he said. "And don't even try an' take your weapons. I'm huggin' 'em like a teddy bear and I'm a very light sleeper."

Germany was dazed. Not only had the child saved him, but he was fully willing to let the German, his enemy, the Nazi, run away. Israel wasn't going to stop him, knock him out, jab out his eyes or cut off his fingers so that he could never return and try to finish what he had started. Germany was, threats aside, a free nation.

But he didn't move. He sat still and stared at the boy as the child hugged his backpack close and snuggled up to the ash-covered horse. He coughed a few times, then looked up at the German.

"You still here?" he said. Germany slowly nodded.

"Fine. But if you stay with me, you've still gotta do what I say or I'll knock you on your ass again."

Germany nodded.

"Then get some sleep or something. Stop staring at me like a creep."

Slowly, the German stood.

"Not tired," he muttered. "I…think I need to walk around a bit."

"Whatever. If you're not back by the time I get my energy back I'm leavin' without 'ya."

The German nodded and turned, walking towards the smoking trees and trying to put his jumbled thoughts into some sort of order.

 _Maybe it's a trick? No, no, it couldn't be…a Jew wouldn't risk his life like that for the sake of a trick. It would have been best for him if I died, that would end the German race in a snap…why go back for me? He doesn't need a hostage so badly that he'd save me when he could just let me and every German die…no sense, it makes no sense._

His ruminations soon gave way to another mental voice, however.

 _Kill Israel…Kill Israel…_

Germany grunted. Ah, right. The Order seemed to be aware that the German nation was now free. He could, technically, perform his task. The German nation looked down at the ground and saw a very thick and very sharp branch. Crude, but it would do the job.

He picked up the branch and waited for some time. Once he felt that he had given the boy and the horse enough time to doze off, he crept back towards them, 'weapon' in hand.

 _Child or not, I have to do this,_ thought Germany. _I'll either do it now and make it quick or I'll lose my mind eventually. No choice. Besides, motives or not, he's a Jew. A Jew, an enemy, this is for the best…_

He softly tip-toed towards the little Jew. Both Kucyk and Israel were asleep, and neither awoke as the German approached. Israel was indeed holding his backpack like a teddy bear, and several coughs wracked his small body as he gripped it.

Germany examined the boy. He looked much, much smaller like this. His skinny frame was curled in a little ball and shivering from the cold wind that blew by. He coughed a few more times. The cold clearly wasn't helping his health.

The German inhaled, raised the branch…and dropped it.

 _Fuck,_ he thought, shaking his head. _What am I thinking? This is how I repay the kid for saving me? I can't stab a child, Jew or no Jew…and besides, if Jews are supposed to be evil, he's the least Jewish Jew I've ever encountered._

He almost wanted to whisper a worthless 'I'm sorry' to the sleeping boy, but instead he took note of the child's quivering and took off his uniform jacket. It wasn't very thick, but a thin blanket was better than none.

He draped the 'blanket' over the trembling boy and backed away, sitting down on the dirty ground and eventually lying on his side. He hissed in pain when Hitler's irksome voice returned to harass him for refusing to fulfill his mission

 _Kill Israel…Kill Israel…_

Germany shook his head. "I can't," he whispered. "He's only a child, he's not a bad person…nation…Ghost…he's not evil."

 _Kill Israel…_

The voice continued to repeat its two-word command. Germany gritted his teeth together and looked up at the boy.

 _Israel,_ he thought, _if you knew what was good for you…you would have left me to burn._

* * *

A very special thanks to 'Guest', who reviewed the last chapter! You're awesome!

Unfortunately, awesome readers aside, I have a sad announcement: don't worry, this story's not going on hiatus or dying, but due to my current workload I'm now gonna have to change my update schedule. It will now be, hopefully, once every two weeks instead of weekly. Sorry, guys, I just don't have that much time to write anymore. Check my profile on Thursdays or Fridays: I'll post update updates there so you'll know when I'm about to post a new chapter.

With that said, our Germany's finally starting to resist Hitler's influence and his orders…but for how long? Review and you'll find out all the sooner! Updates may be pushed back a bit, but reviews will keep them relatively frequent and, of course, will keep the heart of this story pumping!

Thanks for reading and please review!


	16. There Is Nothing Stronger Than Love

_By the English Channel:_

Canada was not a nation that was accustomed to water (unless it was frozen). Unlike his brother, who never seemed to tire of finding a deep pool or lake and diving right in without even bothering to check for sharks or leeches, the cautious Canadian nation had always been a bit wary of deep water.

So staring across the English Channel, gazing at the flickering lights of the Germans that guarded their stolen territory, certainly didn't make the young nation feel brave. He smelled the salty air and hugged Kumajiro so tightly that the little bear had to give an argumentative yelp in order for his master to understand that he was cutting off his supply of oxygen.

"Sorry, Kusumjura," muttered Canada, once again neglecting to properly pronounce his animal companion's name. The bear gave a tiny sigh and Canada copied it as he continued to glance from the German sentries to the dark water of the Channel.

"Foreboding, isn't it?"

The sudden voice behind him nearly made Canada jump out of his boots. He squeezed Kumajiro a bit too tightly in fear and spun around to face the speaker.

He felt relief flood his heart when he saw that it was a longhaired man with twinkling eyes and an almost ridiculously colorful outfit on. The Canadian nation had ended up inheriting very little from his Big Brother France. Unlike shy, fade-into-the-backdrop Canada, France was ostentatious and boastful, sometimes to an irritating degree.

However, if there was one thing that Canada had learned during his childhood it was that, for all his bluster and snootiness, France was often a wise and caring soul.

The French nation chuckled, his little laugh coming out as a traditional and rather stereotypical 'honhonhon!'.

"Mathieu," he said, insisting on the French pronunciation of his little brother's human name, "you're about to kill your cuddly companion."

Canada cringed and quickly released the squirming Kumajiro, who plopped onto the ground and took a deep breath before glaring up at his master.

"Sorry, Ku," muttered Canada, going red in the face. The bear seemed unwilling to forgive and forget so quickly, however, as it marched away from the Canadian and sat down a few feet away with its nose in the air.

"Oh, don't bother with the bear," said France, patting his former colony on the shoulder and smirking knowingly. "He'll forgive you in a moment. The animals are always ungrateful: we give them eternal life and loving homes and they become spoiled little children!"

Canada almost smiled at that. He sometimes wasn't so sure if spending eternity with his little polar bear would be a blessing or a burden, but at the end of the day he was happy that the animal companions of the nations tended to live as long as they did. Of course the furry/feathered/finned companions of the countries were still susceptible to diseases and being killed by humans and nations alike, but most nations weren't separated from their pets until the day they died.

 _But,_ thought Canada gloomily, glancing out at the English Channel once more, _I'm going to have to part from Ku pretty soon._

France finally frowned when he saw the worried expression on his brother's face as he glanced towards the shore on the other side of the watery expanse. For a moment the two countries stood there in silence, letting the salty air caress their faces and watching the distant lights of France's home flicker on and off.

It was surprising that quiet Canada was the one who broke the silence. "We're gonna have to cross that soon…won't we?"

France sighed and nodded solemnly. "Alfred and Arthur are already making plans. We won't have a choice."

"The Germans…they'll be waiting for us."

"True, but we have an advantage. Two, actually."

"Two?"

"Firstly," said France, holding up a finger, "our dear Germany has vanished."

"Vanished?"

"Russia's pushing back on his forces and he is nowhere to be seen. He might be injured and dying for all we know. Wherever he is, though, he's not with his troops. The best time to attack is when the country is away."

"Right," said Canada with a nod. "And…what's the other advantage?"

France's already broad smile somehow became wide enough to rival the English Channel as he elegantly placed a hand on his breast and declared, " _Moi."_

Canada's brow furrowed. France had once been a fantastic fighter, but compared to Germany now he wasn't going to be able to hold his own. Though he was by no means worthless, he wasn't in any position to be counted as an 'advantage'.

France seemed to know what Canada was thinking.

"That is my home, Mathieu," he said in a serious and yet hopeful tone. He turned towards his land, his home, and his eyes softened longingly.

"You know, Mathieu," he muttered, "when Arthur and I had to run away from Germany…when Arthur dragged me to the boats…I fought tooth and nail to stay. I wanted to stay with my people, stay and protect my home, even if it meant having to bow to that Kraut. I cursed England when he took me away from my home…but really, I'm glad he did it. I would be like Poland or poor Belgium right now if it weren't for him. Now I'm stronger, and I have the means to go back and fight for my home. When I go back I won't have to bow to the Kraut. When I get through with him _he'll_ be the one bowing to me. Because I may be old now, but nothing in the world will keep me from my home forever. Not Hitler, not Germany, not anything."

"It will be hard…but I love my home, and I love my people," France smiled cheerfully and winked at his younger brother as he declared, "And there is nothing in this world that's stronger than love!"

For the first time since he had started staring across the English Channel, Canada smiled in earnest. France leaned in a bit and confidentially whispered, "But if you tell England that I said I was grateful to him, I'll stuff snails in your ears."

"Not a word," Canada vowed.

"Good boy," chuckled France. "Let's go inside. It's getting so cold out here, I'm about to catch my death!"

"I'm used to the cold," Canada reminded him. "But you head inside. I'll be a minute: just let me wait for Ku to forgive me."

He gestured to his still-pouting polar bear cub and France shrugged.

" _C'est la vie_ ," he declared. "But don't be too long."

"I won't," Canada promised. He stood by and watched as France walked back towards their little campsite. Once he was gone, Canada scurried to Kumajiro.

"Okay, Ku," he sniffled, pulling the polar bear into one final tight embrace. The polar bear whimpered, but not because Canada was hugging too tight. It was a sad little plea of a whimper, a request that his master not send him out on this mission.

Canada ignored his pet's supplication and reached into his bag, pulling out a little pouch. He gazed down at the pouch for a moment and thought of the nation it was destined for, the one nation who had always seen and noticed him, the nation that he had let down.

Israel had lived with America for many years, and during that time it had only been natural that he and Canada became acquainted. Although he and Israel never became as close as Israel and America had become, Canada had been very fond of the little Ghost. The boy was a bit too brash and certainly had a mouth on him, but he was one of the nicest nations that Canada had ever encountered.

And yet he hadn't stood up for Israel's people. Shy Canada, silent Canada…he had stayed silent when he shouldn't have. When his boss had decided not to let in the Jewish refugees Canada hadn't spoken up. He hadn't stood up for Israel or his people…and now the Jews were either dead or dying by the second.

The pitiful offering he held in his hand could never make up for his failure, but Canada hoped that the little treasure that the pouch contained could somehow help Israel to survive until the Allies could reach him.

He tied the pouch around Kumajiro's neck before carrying him to the water and carefully placing him in.

"Ku, you need to find Israel," he whispered. "Nobody ever sees me, and you need to be unseen too. You're a fast little guy…it'll take you some time, but you remember Israel. Track his scent. Find him, give him the pouch, then come back. Okay?"

Kumajiro licked his master's hand. Canada smiled sadly.

"Come back safe," he whispered, wiping a tear from his eye as the little polar bear began to paddle towards the other side of the English Channel, towards the Nazi-occupied lands.

* * *

Kumajiro won't be talking in my story, folks. Sorry, but I felt it would clash a bit with the overall tone if talking animals existed.

The thing that France was referring to, by the way, with regards to England dragging him away from his home was an event called the Evacuation at Dunkirk: basically while the Germans were invading France (this is prior to Russia and America joining the fray), the English soldiers that were stationed in the country were forced to flee, and in this case Arthur took France with him.

We'll get to more of the Allies later. For now, hanks so much to Guest fr reviewing! Everyone else, please review! It's getting harder and harder to update with all the work I've got, but your reviews will make it happen.

Thanks for reading! Be back (hopefully) soon!


	17. Slave

_Once Upon a Time…_

 _He was here again, in a memory that was not his. He was watching a little boy, little Israel, as the child sat on the ground, poking a scorpion with a stick._

 _A little girl who looked to be about Israel's age skipped up to him and they chatted for a while. Germany could tell by the look in the young nation's eyes that he liked this girl and was happy that she was there, but he would much rather be talking to somebody else. Likely Joseph._

" _Israel," giggled the girl._

" _Yes, Serach?"_

" _Stop poking that thing! It's creepy! Just kill it!"_

 _She gestured down to the scorpion that the child was prodding but not killing. Israel looked up and smiled mischievously. "Hey," he said, "God made it, didn't He? Can't just go around killing things because they're creepy and ugly, otherwise I'd have to kill you!"_

" _Heeey! Why you stupid…!"_

 _She snatched the stick away from the boy and chased him all about, swinging it like a sword. The children laughed and chased one another until Serach spotted something in the distance: a wagon. She grinned._

" _Israel, look! Daddy and my uncles are back!"_

 _Israel sat up straight, a serious look coming to his face. He remained on the ground with his knee upraised, as if he wanted to run to the wagon but was slightly afraid to do so._

" _Do…" he muttered, "Do you think they got Simeon back? Do…you think Benjamin's safe?"_

 _Germany could tell that, as far as Israel was concerned, the world would end if the answer to that last question was 'no'._

 _Serach seemed to sense that the boy was afraid of bad news and thus offered to run ahead and make sure everything was okay. She scurried to the wagon and Israel watched as the men, the same jealous-eyed men from earlier who had given Joseph's bloody coat to his father, took turns giving her a hug and whispering something into her ear._

 _She shrieked and Israel's heart collapsed._

 _But when she came running back to him she wasn't sobbing that Benjamin or Simeon were injured or dead. She was beaming, laughing with joy and absolutely singing, "Joseph! Joseph's alive! Joseph's alive and he's the governor of Egypt! Joseph's alive!"_

 _Israel's sunken heart rose and became filled with so much joy that it nearly exploded._

 _The memory dissolved and the scene changed. No longer was Israel standing in the midst of a horribly hot desert. Instead, the young nation was standing in the cool hall of a marble manor. Servants in strange and scanty outfits stood by with approving smiles on their faces. The men with the jealous eyes stood beside Israel and one of them had a beaming Serach sitting on his shoulders. All eyes were on the kind-eyed old man from before and a familiar man in luxurious clothes. They embraced tenderly and once they pulled apart Germany could see that the man in the regal clothes was none other than Joseph._

 _Joseph stepped away from his tearful father for a moment and picked Israel up, giving him a tight embrace._

" _Shalom, Israel," he whispered with a little laugh. "You haven't aged a day!"_

" _And you're and old man…"giggled Israel, hugging his old friend around the neck, his heart fluttering with relief and elation. "I missed you, Joseph."_

" _I missed you too," Joseph said._

" _Master Joseph…"_

 _A female voice caused both Israel and Joseph to turn. A lovely woman with long, shimmering black hair approached, smiling affectionately at the Jewish man and his nation._

 _ **Ancient Egypt?**_ _thought Germany, able to sense even in a memory not his own that this woman was no human. Israel seemed to sense this as well; he cautiously backed away from the powerful empire, ducking behind Joseph's legs. Joseph chuckled._

" _Israel, don't be afraid," he said gently. "I want you to meet the Egyptian Empire. She's been taking care of me…"_

" _Bah!" cried Ancient Egypt, bowing slightly to the young Jew, "You're the one that's been helping me! I'd be a skeleton by now if it weren't for you!"_

 _Israel stepped forward._

" _Uhm…shalom,' he said in a surprisingly shy manner, a manner that Germany would have never associated with the brash and confident Jewish child he was used to._

" _Hello," she giggled. "Oooh, he's adorable! I'm honored to meet Joseph's nation! Any friend of his is a friend of mine! You're more than welcome in my home, little one. Are you hungry?"_

" _Starving. There's no food in my house anymore. I was about to resort to eating scorpions."_

" _Disgusting!"_

 _Israel cringed. The voice that had exclaimed with revulsion belonged to another boy, a boy that he hadn't noticed until now, a boy that squeaked in fear once he realized that he had given himself away and hid behind his mother again. Ancient Egypt smiled tenderly._

" _Oh, Gupta, don't be scared. Israel's our guest and our friend."_

 _ **Gupta? Isn't that Egypt? Modern Egypt? It must be.**_ _Germany had only met Egypt once, while saving a hapless Italy, but he had a good memory and gazing closely at the shy child confirmed that it was indeed a much, much younger Egypt._

 _Israel quirked his head to the side and smiled, stepping up to the boy and offering him his hand._

" _Gupta? Is that your name? Nice to meet you, I'm Israel."_

 _Egypt winced and glanced uncertainly up at his mother. She smiled and gestured for him to go ahead and greet the Jew. Gupta smiled and shook Israel's hand._

" _Hi, Israel, it's nice to have you here."_

" _Boys," cooed Ancient Egypt, "why don't we go and have something to eat? You two can talk more then."_

 _Israel felt his stomach snarl and nodded eagerly._

 _The memory dissolved._

" _Hut hut!"_

" _Ah! Israel! Slow down!"_

 _Israel was grinning gaily and gripping the reins of a swift steed. Little Egypt sat on the saddle behind the Jewish nation, his arms wrapped around his friend's waist while Israel rode through the streets of the Egyptian capital at a ludicrously fast pace. It seemed that thousands of years hadn't changed Israel as far as brash behavior went._

" _Israeeeeeeel!" whined Egypt._

" _Don't be such a coward, Gu!"_

" _Stop calling me that!"_

" _Whatever you say, Dung Beetle!"_

" _Israel!" But Egypt laughed in spite of the supposed insult, and it was clear that although Israel was scaring the living hell out of his fellow child-nation, they were getting along splendidly._

 _The scene dissolved._

" _Agh! I think I almost died six times! Next time I let you steer, Israel, hit me."_

" _Sure thing," giggled Israel, following his friend as they stumbled into what appeared to be the sanctuary of an Egyptian temple. Egypt gazed up at one of the idols, a godess that somewhat resembled a cat, and kissed her ivory-furnished feet._

" _Ah! Thank the gods and goddesses I made it back here alive! It takes a miracle to survive you, Israel!"_

 _He stepped aside, clearly desiring to give Israel space to kiss the cat-godess' feet. Israel's cheerful smirk skewed uncomfortably and he stayed where he was. Egypt frowned curiously._

" _Israel? What's wrong?"_

" _Uhm…well, I can't kiss your gods, Gupta."_

 _Egypt smiled as if this was a huge misunderstanding. "Don't be ridiculous, Israel! I thank and kiss and bow to other nations' gods all the time. Your gods won't mind."_

" _God," Israel corrected, "And actually, He would mind a lot. I made a promise to only worship Him."_

" _Wait…so, you only worship one god? Don't your other gods get jealous?"_

" _No, no, Gupta, I don't have any_ other _gods_ to _worship. There's only one. God. The Lord. The One and Only."_

" _But…what about the sun and the moon and everything…they need their…"_

" _I don't believe that," said Israel, gentle yet firm. "God, Adonai, He runs everything. He made everything-you, me, your mother, even the stone you used to carve that idol. God is everything. Our Maker and our Judge and our Father and our Mother and our Friend…"_

" _That's…strange," whispered Gupta, mystified. Germany, who had spent his life as a Christian among Christians, found Egypt's astonishment astonishing in its own regard. That the very concept of monotheism had been so alien so long ago…what a different word Israel had grown up in. A lonely world, with him as the lone monotheist in a sea of polytheism._

" _Doesn't your God have a name?"_

" _He does, but we're not allowed to say it all the time. It's too holy. We just call Him Adonai or Hashem instead."_

" _Oh…well, doesn't your God get lonely? With no other gods…doesn't He want a family? A wife? Children?"_

" _We're already his children. We're all his family. He's only lonely sometimes."_

" _When?"_

" _When nobody talks to Him, I guess. My people have been the only ones to talk to Him for years. Joseph and Jakob used to tell me all about how He talked to Abraham and Isaac and how He blessed them…"_

" _Has your God ever spoken to you?"_

" _He's your God too, not just mine. And well…I think He talked to me once, but He hasn't really had a conversation with me yet. I hope He will one day, if I'm good."_

" _Have you ever seen Him, though? What's He look like?"_

" _Uhm…nothing."_

" _He…looks like nothing?"_

" _Well…He doesn't have a body or a face or anything like that, not like us people do. He doesn't look like anything. He's just…Him."_

 _Their conversation continued with little Egypt inquiring about Israel's single God with curiosity and even a hint of bewildered enthusiasm. Israel and his friend discussed the differences between their respective faiths for some time, Israel smiling as he spoke of the God he loved and Who, he was convinced, loved him right back._

 _But at one point Israel's eyes shifted towards the cat-godess and he frowned when he saw Egypt's mother standing in the idol's shadow, scowling at the Jewish nation._

 _The memory dissolved._

" _Bow."_

 _Ancient Egypt had forced Israel onto his knees. She was pushing down on his head, trying to get him to prostrate himself before an imposing statue of Anubis. The child, however, was stubbornly pushing back against her hand, refusing to pay respect to the idol. Gupta was standing a few feet away, biting his lip so hard that it was a wonder he hadn't yet pierced his own flesh._

" _Bow, I said, you stubborn little Hebrew!" hissed Ancient Egypt. All of the motherly kindness and hospitality she had demonstrated before was gone. She glared down at the Jewish nation as though he was a particularly disgusting bug that had crawled into her house without her consent._

" _No," Israel hissed obstinately._

" _After all I did for you," snapped Ancient Egypt, "I let you into my home, I gave you food, I treated you like a son…and you refuse to follow my customs or pay respect to my gods!"_

" _I respect you-or at least I did-but I can't worship you or your gods or anything that's not Adonai."_

" _Your 'God' is a figment of your imagination. My god is right in front of you. Don't be a stubborn fool, Israel. Bow and you can go back to playing with Gupta."_

 _Israel's only response was to crane his neck and spit on her foot. She recoiled in disgust and her face contorted with rage._

" _You insolent…!"_

" _After everything Joseph did for you!" snapped Israel with tears in his eyes, "You would treat his nation like a…"_

 _She kicked him in the side and Germany felt as though he had received the blow. Gupta whimpered, but did not move to help his former friend._

" _Slave?" said Ancient Egypt. "Is that what you were about to say, boy? I'm treating you like a slave?"_

 _She grabbed him by the hair and painfully lifted him off of the ground, a sinister smile coming to her formerly lovely features._

" _Well," she said, "Joseph's dead. And you're all alone,_ _ **slave.**_ "

And with that, Germany awoke.

* * *

I'm not dead!

Aieeeee! This week has been hell. My computer crashed, I got sick, exams…folks, I'm really sorry. You don't know how much I wanted to update faster, especially with you guys being so great and leaving such great reviews…but life stands in my way. Exams and finals are coming up and I need to be on my toes. Forgive me for taking so long and forgive me further if updates are sporadic or nonexistent until Thanksgiving and Christmas break.

In the meantime, a sincere thank you to:

Hopefully9000

Nebelsue

Tremblinghand

Thanks for reviewing and I hope my long absence didn't make you abandon this story: I certainly haven't abandoned this story yet so don't worry! We shall finish!

Thanks for reading, everyone, and please review!

Oh, and P.S.: Serach is, in Jewish lore, the daughter of Asher. It was she, according to the Jewish commentators, who informed Jakob that Joseph was alive and was governor of Egypt…by singing to him. It's even said that Jakob, at hearing her song, blessed her by saying, "If your words are true, may you merit eternal life!" And, according to the Jewish fable, she did indeed become immortal. Maybe she's even reading this story right now…

What? After living for centuries wouldn't you just wanna settle down and read some fanfiction?


	18. Snowflake

"Hey."

A single word roused Germany from his fitful slumber. He sat up and his eyes met the blank brown irises of Israel, who stood over the German nation with Germany's coat hanging around his shoulders. The child looked rather cute like that: cloaked in a coat much too big for him, calm and slightly bemused as he looked down at his not-prisoner.

"Hello," Germany replied, stifling a yawn, looking at the Jewish Ghost with equal parts relief and confusion. The child took off Germany's coat and held it towards its owner.

"Why'd ya' give me this?" he asked. Germany, who wasn't entirely sure himself, pondered that question for a moment before shrugging as casually as his stiff joints would allow him to.

"I…just thought you needed it more than I did," he muttered.

"Oh," was Israel's only response, and for a moment the Nazi and Jew were so silent that the whole world seemed to go mute. At last, Israel made a movement: he offered Germany his hand. Germany glanced at the hand, the Jewish hand, the hand that was supposedly the source of all his woes.

He took that hand, grasping it firmly as the Jewish lad helped him to his feet. Israel's poker-face broke as a smirk tugged at his lips once more.

"Ungh!" he grunted as he yanked the German up, "Fat, still too fat!"

Germany snorted and clutched his snarling stomach. "I certainly don't feel fat."

"Well, your size seems to imply otherwise," said Israel, handing the German his coat.

"You're so kind," sighed Germany, snatching his garment and quickly putting it on, straightening out the wrinkles as best as he could. "Next time I'm letting you die of hypothermia."

"And next time I'm lettin' _you_ die of smoke inhalation. Speaking of dying, am I to judge by the fact that I didn't wake up to find you sharpening a spear or gettin' ready to crush my head with a boulder that you're ready to play nice?"

Germany almost let his pupils wander to where he had tossed the sharpened stick that he had almost used to murder the Ghost, but he managed to keep his eyes on Israel and shrugged.

"At this point, Je… _Israel,_ I just want to get home in one piece. You're…confusing, to say the least. Stubborn, annoying, foulmouthed and an unbearable nuisance…but you're not a bad kid. Besides, you _did_ save my life. Us Germans may be harsh sometimes, I'll admit…"

" _Sometimes?"_

" _But,"_ Germany continued, his ice-cold eyes softening ever-so-slightly, "we're not a gang of ingrates and traitors. That's what I thought you and your people were…but you're not, and neither am I. So, yes, I'll come along with you and I'll…try to help. I won't hurt my own people, mind you, but if we come across any Germans I'll try to vouch for you and make sure you're not harmed."

Israel gazed at Germany with an indiscernible expression for quite some time before he gravely mumbled, "Y'know, Spit-Shine, I wish all your people were like you."

Germany arched an eyebrow at that, but before he could decide on whether or not that statement was offensive a sound struck his ears: a very, very heavy footstep close by.

"You hear that?" muttered Israel. Germany nodded. The child wrinkled his nose.

"Ugh!" he gagged, "You _smell_ that?"

Although his long stint in the woods had dulled his sinuses to foul odors, Germany indeed managed to pick up the scent that Israel found so repulsive. It didn't belong in a forest. It was the smell of alcohol.

Vodka.

"Oh, shit…"

Israel seemed to realize what that scent portended as well. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and stepped in front of Germany in a rather protective manner.

"Stay back, Spit-Shine, and don't say a word," he ordered brusquely. Germany, unarmed and exhausted, obeyed, stepping back like a timid child as Israel got into a fighting stance and the one who smelled of vodka emerged from the fog.

That smile. That damned smile that Russia had, it was a smile that could have made the mightiest of beasts back away in trepidation. And Germany, powerful Germany, Aryan Germany, felt a shiver snake its way up his spine as Russia and his _smile_ appeared not ten yards away. Russia and his smile and his dried-blood-coated pipe and his devilishly twinkling eyes.

Those eyes, however, moved from the disheveled German to the armed Israel and widened in disbelief and…was that fright? Fright in Russia's eyes, fright brought about at the sight of a little Ghost. Even Germany at his strongest had only managed to earn anger from those violet eyes, never the fright he had so wanted to see.

But fright came to Russia's eyes as he stared at Israel and that sinister smile fell apart as his lips parted in surprise.

Israel smirked.

"Snowflake!" he cried as though he and Russia were old schoolmates. Germany almost snorted at that. _Snowflake?_ he thought, gazing at the giant personification and pondering that nickname, which was simultaneously perfect and completely inappropriate. _Well, I guess I'm not the only one he gave a stupid nickname to._

The wind caused Russia's snow-white scarf to flutter about, partially obscuring his face and making his countenance's change from surprise to hesitant anger seem all the more sudden.

" _Maliny_ Israel," he chirped darkly, and Germany's eyes bulged with surprise.

"He knows too?" he cried in disbelief and moderate ire, "Did every country know you're still alive except for me?!"

"Count that as a good thing, Spit-Shine," said Israel, "It means I never had'ta find you and kick the shit outta you until now."

"I'm surprised at you, Maliny Israel," cooed Russia, that sickening smile returning to his face as he gestured towards the unkempt German with his blood coated pipe. "Keeping this filth so close by without even having him leashed."

"He _was_ on a leash 'till the fire started," Israel replied, scowling and standing up straight, crossing his arms confidently over his chest as he snapped, "I guess I have _you_ to thank for that fire-fun, Snowflake. That's a bit unlike you, trying to kill someone with _heat."_

"Unorthodox measures must be taken in times of crisis, Little One," chirped Russia almost mechanically, as though that was something he had heard many times from his boss and was simply reciting like a loyal parrot. "I was simply trying to get rid of a problem, _our problem._ A problem that _you_ are unable to take care of, Little Ghost."

"Same way I couldn't take care'a the _problem_ that was you a few decades back, Snowflake," sneered the Jewish Ghost. "But I still managed to knock your unnaturally large ass into a frozen lake."

 _Israel beat Russia in a fight?_ Germany thought with surprise as he crept behind Kucyk, who was standing in the background aggressively stomping his hooves on the ground and glowering at Russia with those large dark eyes of his. It took the German a moment to recall that the Jewish Nation had famously beaten the Roman Empire himself in a fight, but even then the thought of the tiny nation actually doing damage to the giant Russian was so strange. Russia was young, strong, and hardy enough to deal with most anything that tried to injure him.

" _That_ is in the past," said Russia, an aggressive edge coming to his seemingly sunny tone as he lowered his pipe and extended a welcoming hand towards the child. "Now that I'm here, Maliny Israel, I can solve both of our problems. Give me the German and I'll get revenge for both of our people. I'll put an end to all of this misery."

Israel shook his head and drew his sword. "Sorry, Snowflake, no can do. The Nazi fucker's staying alive and he's staying with me."

Russia's smile began to melt away into an aggravated frown. "And why is that? If we kill him, Little Jew, we can stop this war in one fell swoop…"

"By killing an entire country and all his people? Sorry, I don't think so."

Germany peeked over Kucyk's saddle, staring at the Jewish child in grateful bewilderment. He shouldn't have been shocked, the Jew had already saved him once after all, but hearing such a proclamation fall from the child's lips still filled him with surprise. The child would not kill him and his people, not even when the opportunity arose to doom the Aryan race that he supposedly despised.

"He would have happily done the same to us!" growled Russia.

"Yeah, true, but I don't tend to compare myself to the lowest common denominator," said Israel. "I have high standards for myself. I'm better than him and I'm better than you."

"No, you're not," sneered the Russian, smiling once more. "If you felt even a quarter of the pain I feel right now, Israel, you would break, you would have me slit his Nazi throat."

"Russia," said Israel, suddenly serious. "I feel your pain."

"You don't…!"

"I really do. In more ways than you can ever know." The child inhaled deeply, glanced briefly back at Germany, and raised his weapon.

"Turn and walk, Ivan," said the Jewish Ghost. "I don't want to fight you, but I will if I have to."

Russia glowered and lifted up his rusty pipe.

"I do not wish to fight you either, Maliny Israel," he hissed. "I did not wish to fight you before, but I did so for the sake of my people and I will do so again…"

"And you'll lose…" replied Israel, "Again."

Russia's only retort to that was _'Kolkolkol'._

Israel attacked first and Germany had to grab onto Kucyk's reins to keep him from trotting forward and joining the fray. The horse turned its deep and furious black eyes onto the German and Germany was almost afraid that the animal would kick _him_ , but the horse stood down and Germany turned his attention away from the horse and back to the fight.

It quickly became apparent that Israel did not require the help of the horse, and if Germany had wondered before how a tiny boy like Israel could topple an empire he received his answer as he observed the battle

Israel was faster than Italy retreating. Russia attempting to hit the child with his pipe might as well have been a lackadaisical Prussia attempting to swat at a fly. Israel hopped to and fro, stabbing at the Russian and leaping back before Russia could even think of hitting him. The child was panting, clearly tired, but nonetheless he continued his pattern of leaping and striking, leaping and striking, until Russia was cut, bruised, and battered.

Russia snarled in fury and raised his pipe, putting all of his weight into his swing. The boy stood still until the Russian began to lower his pipe towards the boy. As the pipe came down, the child rolled out of the way, behind Russia, and while Russia was slightly bent over the child was able to reach his foe's head. He struck Russia's skull with the back of his blade, stunning the already battered nation and bringing him to the ground.

Germany stood stunned, his jaw slack. He had tried, he had put all of his effort into it, but he hadn't been able to beat Russia. It appeared that in this case, small and swift won the battle rather than big and brutal. He looked at the Jewish Ghost…no, no, he couldn't be a Ghost, not with that sort of speed and strength. He must have been lying before. He was a full-fledged nation, and a strong one at that.

And as Germany looked at the Jewish nation, he could swear that he saw the child's formerly hazel eyes glowing gold. He blinked and by the time he opened his eyes, the child's irises were their normal shade once more. Perhaps he was simply delirious…

Israel sheathed his sword, rushed over, and hopped onto Kucyk's saddle.

"Germany, c'mon!" cried the Jewish Ghost, offering the German his hand. Germany hesitated, glancing back at the dazed and vulnerable Russia. Hitler would be ecstatic if he could…

He felt something sharp pricking the back of his neck and realized that Israel had taken out his blade and was threatening to slick into the German's flesh.

"You either get onto this horse or I cut off your head and drag you along, you fucking Nazi! I didn't let him kill you and I ain't gonna let you kill him!"

Germany sighed, "Fine."

Israel sheathed his sword and helped Germany onto his steed. The German instinctively wrapped his arms around the boy as the boy whipped at Kucyk's reins and they took off at full speed.

Russia head stopped spinning within ten minutes, and by then the Jew and the German were long gone.

But…

He looked down at the snow and saw hoof-tracks. He ran back to find his men so that they could get together and start following the trail before the next snowfall let the fugitives escape.

* * *

Sorry about the lag in updates, folks! My wrist was injured pretty bad a little while ago and typing has become something of a slow venture!

However, many thanks as usual to:

Guest

Tremblinghand: Thanks for your usual review and as for your question, that will be somewhat explained in a later Memory Dream. Also, as someone who has read some of your stuff, you should try to write whatever you like! I'm sure you'd do it very well!

Aronpuma: Who graciously agreed to look at, review, and criticize this story! Thanks, aronpuma! By the time you get to this chapter I'll probably have already sent you a PM, but I do want to cover one or two things you brought up for the sake of the audience:

" _ **Hitler isn't shown. Himmel is, and he is a human. Humans do not understand this, and he should consider it buisness as usual if not the crowning achievement of all they've worked for. Why should this human, leader of an empire that has conquered Europe, be scared?"**_

That's actually an interesting point. Those of you with really damn good memories will recall that Hitler has not shown up yet (he will) and that it was Heinrich Himmler, the leader of the SS, who gave Germany his mission back in chapter one. Himmler was very nervous about the whole affair and, believe it or not, that's based off of historical record.

Heinrich Himmler was NOT the sort of menacing figure one would associate with an organization as brutal as the SS (his deputy Heydrich, also briefly mentioned in chapter one, fit the bill far more). He was short, near-sighed, sickly, and a coward of the first degree. He managed to weasel his way into Hitler's good graces mostly because he was known to be loyal (Hitler called him _True Heinrich)_. However, he had thin-skin and was easily frightened and sickened.

He couldn't even stand the sight of blood. He was a desk murderer in the sense that if you handed him a piece of paper that said "Do you want us to kill one-hundred Jews at dawn?" he would sign off on it, but he couldn't stand to watch those hundred Jews get executed because the _premise_ of gore outside of the sterile, controlled environment of his office terrified and disgusted him. The one occasion, when he did watch a mass execution he actually vomited…it was that very incident which led him to look for a less personal way to execute Jews, which eventually led to the cold, effectual, organized gas chambers.

But now I'm barfing a history book at you. The Jewish Virtual Library has a pretty good article on him if you wanna check it out, or you could read Peter Padfield's book on him. Or, if you don't feel like leaving the boundaries of , go to my Fav stories and look for the story _The Lies My Boss Told Me_ by Ludwig's Alter Ego _._ GREAT fanfic that has a really great scene with the German High Command.

" _ **I do feel like you miss something in having Prussia call it "not awesome" because it's not Prussia's place to be apprehensive about fighting an enemy. Italy yes, Italy is perfect. Just not Prussia."**_

True enough, though Prussia wasn't really concerned about his own safety. If Prussia had been a full-fledged nation and not a vulnerable Ghost he likely would have gone along to fight himself, but he can't. Prussia's brash, but not stupid (Which, I think, is an important thing to emphasize: no country in this universe is stupid, but they can be impulsive).

Prussia wasn't calling this situation 'not awesome' because he's scared of Israel, he's calling this situation not awesome because his little brother is going to face a supposedly invincible nation by himself without his awesome bro to back him up. This situation, to him, is not awesome because his brother is being put into unnecessary danger and could very well get himself killed. The Awesome Prussia at his prime might have been able to handle the 'Invincible' Israel, but his admittedly arrogant little brother who's already beat down by a multi-front war? As England might say: Not bloody likely.

I guess I could have made that more clear. My headcanon has Prussia as loudmouthed, arrogant, and brash, but brotherly and smart. You can't become a long-lasting empire without knowing when to pick your battles, after all.

As to your point about Villain Sues, well, at this point the readers know that Israel is not a Villain, but I do have a question for you, my awesome audience: do you think that Israel is leaning towards any sort of 'Sue' category? I'd like to know what you guys think of his character.

Lastly, thanks to ApostolicShadowNinjaGirl for your review and a reply to your comment:

" _ **My one real criticism is that you made Israel pro-homosexual. If he is a Jew he shouldn't be, especially since he's been a Jew since Jews existed. If you don't want to make him anti, I would just suggest leaving it out entirely. I just feel like it's kind of a misrepresentation and unrealistic."**_

A very valid point and one I should address before we get much further:

Those of you with really damn good memories will recall that around Chapter 7, Germany and Israel exchanged this bit of dialogue:

" _Shame. Not surprised, though. Got any family, then? Brothers?"_

" _No."_

" _Sisters?"_

" _No."_

" _Cousins? Aunts? Uncles?_

" _No, no, no."_

" _Girlfriend?"_

" _No."_

" _Boyfriend?"_

 _Germany scowled and made a sound of disgust._

" _Don't be an asshole," Israel admonished._

Now for those of you who are not aware, in Judaism the Children of Israel are commanded to keep 613 laws that can be found within the first five books of the bible (the Torah). These laws range from 'don't murder' to 'don't move your neighbor's fence' and everything in between. One law amongst these laws is 'Man shall not lie with a man as with a woman'. In Judaism, homosexual intercourse between men is forbidden, hence the objection to this little part.

Israel is, indeed, a religious Jew who follows the Torah. HOWEVER, he is also protective of his friends, and Poland is a close friend of his (obviously). He is not _pro-_ homosexual, but he's also not anti. There is a difference. Much in the same way that he considers eating pork or worshipping Jesus a sin, but would never hurt or scold or refuse to befriend someone for believing differently. Germany could have mocked Poland for being a Catholic and Israel's reaction would have been the same: 'Don't be an asshole'. Just because he doesn't actively like or agree with something doesn't mean he won't defend somebody if they're being mocked for it, especially if it's a friend of his.

I was actually gonna go more into detail about this later, but that's just for the record. And I don't mean any offense to anyone when I make this argument: if it doesn't hurt or annoy me or anyone else, I usually don't really care what your personal beliefs or lifestyle choices are.

Now I feel like a PSA. And I hate PSA's. So I'm gonna wrap this up!

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, faved, followed, and criticized: seriously, folks, if you have any problems with this story, don't; hesitate to say so! I'll respond either here or in your PM box, but I know my story's not perfect. No story is perfect after all! Except the story about how you left a review, that's a perfect story!

Special thanks to aronpuma! If you're here, hope you're enjoying yourself!


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